Phil

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Friday. My first day off in three weeks. I sat alone, in a place I thought would be empty, especially at this time. The sky was becoming overcast as I dangled my legs over the edge, staring down into the muddy waters of Gotham's bay. The faint sound of fast talking caught my attention, and as I looked up, I saw two men walking to the end of the other pier across from me. One of them was walking backwards, talking rapidly as if to save his own life. The other just stared, without a word, a gun clenched tight in his hand.

'SHUT UP!' The silent man shouted, and held the other man at arms length, facing the water. The poor man was shaking as the other pointed the gun to the back of his head.

BANG!

A high pitched ringing sounded in the air after the gun shot, and I stood to hide behind a crate. My eyes wide, I tried to convince myself that I hadn't in fact just witnessed a murder. I placed my hands over my mouth, in case I made enough noise to alert the man that I was there, watching. I didn't see the man's body fall in the water, but I heard it splash.

I had lived in Gotham my whole life, I knew there was some fucked up shit constantly going around, but I hardly ever witnessed any of it. It was always just passed around as stories. Tales you could pretend were just fiction. But nothing I could do would be strong enough to erase what I just saw from my mind.

My stomach churned as I sat and waited, peeking out behind the crate to see the man look behind him, his arm still outstretched with the gun in his hand. A fearful tear escaped as I watched him retreat, probably back to his friend who was waiting for him.

He looked too dressed up to be a murderer. How was he not afraid of getting blood on his suit? He acted like he had done this before.

Packing up my stuff, I got the hell out of there like I was running from a demon trying to take my soul. I didn't stop until I was safely back inside the city, blending in with hundreds of busy people. My heart was racing, and no amount of steady breathing could slow it down.

The next few days were somewhat a blur. I barely slept, and that made me cranky at work. Waiting and cleaning up tables was a good distraction until there was a lull and I couldn't control my anxiety anymore.

I hated myself for being such a pussy about the whole situation. There were much worse crimes that happened in Gotham, and they could happen to me, and I knew I got lucky by only witnessing something, even if it was a cold blooded murder.

'Any job at all, even dishwasher!' A pathetic sounding voice caught my attention as I was taking a tables order about an hour before my shift ended.

'We're staffed up.' I heard my boss reply as I turned to see a pale, black haired man talking to him, looking like he had run away from home and seeking refuge.

'I only ask a chance to prove myself.' He said, almost sounding like he was begging.

'You ever work in a restaurant?' My boss retorted.

'Not exactly.'

'Here; you're on your feet all day. You don't even have the right shoes.' He spat before walking away.

I frowned, watching this guy with a hole in his blue sweater stand there awkwardly. He looked so lost and lonely, a part of me felt sorry for him. I made myself look busy as I watched him from the corner of my eye. He glanced behind him at the kitchen staff, at Phil washing dirty dishes, and then down at Phil's feet. He definitely didn't look prepared for any type of job in a restaurant.

The next day, I had to stop in my steps as I saw the same man that begged my boss for a job in full uniform, washing the dishes that Phil was supposed to be doing. And wearing the right shoes.

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