The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

"Time to wake up," a man's loud voice bellowed outside the dumpster in which Jeremiah was still lying cold inside.

The man struggled to awaken himself from the harsh slumber in which he had been trapped. He could hear the man outside repeat his four words over and over again, but for the life of him Jeremiah couldn't figure out just who he could have been speaking to. All of the sudden, a blasting knock at the dumpster caused Jeremiah to jump so violently that he hit the top of his head on the dumpster's steel lid.

"Who's in there?" An old, dingy looking, bearded black man opened the lid.

The sunlight rushed right inside the dumpster to where Jeremiah had to shield his eyes. The man then attempted to get up only to remember the effects of the beating he endured. Immediately he slumped back down into the pile of filth.

"Man, what are you doin' in there?" The old man looked confused. "Are you drunk or somethin'?"

Rubbing his aching jaw, Jeremiah once more tried to sit up until his hands reached the rim of the cold dumpster. "What...what day is it?" He slurred.

man. Where you been?" the old

"In the fucking trash can, there's where." Jeremiah cantankerously griped as he climbed up and out of the dumpster, holding his

The second his feet hit the hard pavement he staggered

"Who were you yelling at a

just waking up my buddies around here." He pointed at the scurrying felines. "On chilly mornings like these they

face and body felt like someone had beaten him repeatedly with baseball bats. He wrapped his jacket around his body as tightly as he could before limping away from the dumpster and old

time to wake up, friend!" The homeless man

was steadily waving back at him. Even without his glasses he could see the fellow as clear as if he were standing directly in front of him. Such a thing hadn't occurred since he was

alley and around the corner to the bar's empty parking lot, empty, save for his own car that was, much to his shock, still parked in its original spot. Without even going for his keys Jeremiah opened the driver's side door and got in. The second he shut the door he sat perfectly still inside the frigid vehicle and rested his painful body in the seat. What was going through his head was a tidal wave of everything horrific, and unexpectedly serene. With such vivid precision he recalled the event back at his apartment, as well as the faces

shivering inside his body. He dropped his head and closed his eyes in an attempt to drown out any emotion, but it was completely useless; there was entirely too much quiet, and all the quiet seemed to do was remind him of what he had survived up until then. Jeremiah then lifted his head back up and looked right into the rearview mirror at his busted up face. A large