9: Beating a Dead Horse to Death … AgainMelissa huffed and situated her backpack farther on her shoulder as she turned down an alleyway. The top curvature of the sun had finally disappeared behind the horizon of buildings and the desert beyond. Shadows grew longer and wider as lights from the nightlife grew brighter, beckoning the adventurous.
She swallowed hard as she passed a brick wall graffitied with slang and cuss words—and a few phone numbers, advertising a good time. A newspaper blew across the small alley, its pages flapping like wings, before it struck the concrete, then skidded like a hockey puck against a blue dumpster. She contemplated finding a corner to remove her dad’s gun from the backpack so she could tuck it into her waistband for protection, but the thought of stopping
