Though it was only eight-thirty in the evening, the night around him was pitch black, the darkness so heavy the streetlights seemed to struggle to hold it back. Snow continued to fall in crazed patterns, swirling over the windshield of Vic’s battered old Toyota, freezing on the windows, and making it hard to see the road ahead. He drove a mind-numbing thirty miles an hour down the main streets of Richmond, his hazards on to warn off any speed-happy bastard with a death wish who might get on his ass. The last thing Vic needed tonight was some jackass honking at him to pick it up. If that happened, snow or not, Vic was likely to stop the car dead in the road, climb out, and tear the aggressive f**k a new exhaust pipe.
But he didn’t need that s**t. He didn’t want a fight; he wasn’t up for it
