Joe leaned back on the brick wall, lighting a cigarette, a dismal reward in his current life’s casserole of despair. In his mind, he had good intelligence on the building, but as he heard the clatter of gunfire, he knew the hardened agonist inside him was wrong.
Plans were made and even as numerous naysayers tried to discourage him, he found a solution to satisfy them. The extra mundane details would not matter in the long run, or so he thought.
When his gang stealthily entered the warehouse, a single bark from a watchdog gave the group an eldritch feeling, but when the police whistle accompanied several armed men, Joe knew it was over.