it didn't matter

Greg Fallis

As frightened as he is, he knows he’s safer on the street. Only marginally safer, but safer--and yet he can’t stop himself from suddenly breaking into a run and slamming through the doors of one of the ramshackle squatter-inhabited buildings, a remnant of old LA, the Los Angeles he’d seen in faded magazines, where people in elegant clothes once held parties and drank cocktails from esoteric glasses. He didn’t know if he was followed inside, and it didn’t matter because he was being chased all the same.

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