Scratch that

Pilot

It was a late Thursday afternoon, John Aberdeen was working his last shift. In his own words "I don't work, I just live". As an IRA auditor he was always serving someone. He never cared much for publicity, but it came with due time. He wiped his brow, looked at his watch and hopped into his musty Buick. The car was a junker, and though John had good enough money, he remained stingy. He didn't care if the car was a loud, obnoxious, health hazard, it got him from here to there. That was what John cared for. He opened his last sealed letter of the day and typed the contents into his flip phone. He flipped it closed and heard the little "click" sound. He smiled, it was always a pleasure to hear the little sounds of the day. Although a normal person, with an average brain wouldn't go into the part of town on the address; John remained an exception. He put his scatchy palm on the shift, and moved it like a crane machine. The rusted behind of his junker, shined a tiny light through the fog. It was April and John loved the fog. But despite his interest of this season, he couldn't see through it. He rolled down his tinted, slightly cracked window, pulled out a long green flashlight and shined it out as he slowly rolled into the parking lot. "Another day, another way", he recited as he drove his junkmobile through the streets of Greensboro, NC. There wasn't much traffic at this time, so John felt at peace with the hum of his engine. He popped open his side compartment and pulled out a CD. It was his favorite, B.E.R Platinum hits. The smooth base melted with the scent of smoke from John's bad habit. "Ahh, he exclaimed. His smile was worn and calm. The light turned green and he drove closer to his destination. His faded brown boots  played the pedals like music. He approached the downtown area with his eyes peeled to the road. There was always something to see, although not pleasant, it was interesting. An occasional bum or two, a raccoon, a possum, possibly another "new" bar. All he saw today however was the broken windows and grunting men on their way home from work. He liked the sound of steps on the sidewalk, so he rolled the rest of his windows down. As his blinkers shined, he heard a complaint or two. He didn't care, as long as the cracked lights worked, it was fine. He pulled into a dimly lit parking garage. He was almost done with the day. He found the elevator...and walked right past it to the stairs. John was not scared of heights, but rather small places. He was claustrophobic and he never really knew why. He stepped 2 stairs at a time and approached the front desk. A fat bald man with a courderoy vest greeted him. John smiled, the name tag read, Alice.