I'm sitting on a street corner cold and hungry watching people pass me by. The sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air as the city roars to life. Closing my eyes, I start savoring the delightful smell. Oh, what I'd give for just a taste of the delicious hot treat. It'd be so warm, so refreshing. Last night had been a bitterly cold night, one I barely survived. Raising my old tired bones off the hard ground I stumble towards the crowd.

I shuffle towards a wealthy young lady who's trying hard not to acknowledge my existence.

"Ma 'me, can you please spare a quarter?" Wrapping the mink around herself, she turns up her nose and quickly steps away. I get a staggering whiff of her expensive perfume as she hurries past me. She probably doesn't even know what a quarter is. Chuckling, I turn back around. Seeing a businessman walking towards me, I decided to try again.

"Please kind Sir, can you spare a quarter?"

"Get a job," he replies, pushing me away. Hot tears run down my cold withered face as my arthritic body falls against the concrete wall.

"I know, I don't look like much to them, with my long gray hair, straggly beard, and filthy worn out clothes. If I could only explain what's happened to me, maybe then they'd understand. I'm not the bitter old man they think I am without a life or purpose. I had a home, a loving family until it was ruthlessly snatched away.

My nightmare began on a cold blizzard day sometime in early March. I was sitting in my office enjoying a victory drink when a sloven young man stumbles through the door.

His cheap brown suit fit snugly around his large thick body. The vast amount of wrinkles it housed gave the impression that he'd slept in it for weeks. By the condition of his dark scraggly hair, I inferred that it hadn't seen a brush in some time.

"Hey Larry, how are you?" he asks, scratching his scruffy beard. The moment I saw him I knew that I'd seen his face on America's Most Wanted. Frightened, I carefully slip my hand in the side desk drawer.

"How did you get in here?" I ask, discreetly feeling around for my gun.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend." Stepping inside the room, he closes the door. My stomach stiffens into a large hard knot as it slams too.

"Who are you and what do you want?" I demand, holding the loaded 22 in my hand.

"I'm your old pal Fred from college and I came to collect on a debt that you owe." Seeing him walking towards me, I try to cock the gun. My hand is trembling so badly, it's taking everything I have not to drop it back in the drawer.

"A debt? I think you're sadly mistaken." I feel the gun vibrate out of my hand as he steps closer. Fishing around for the weapon, I nervously continue.

"I'd advise you to get out of my office before I have you thrown out!"

"Have you forgotten about your girlfriend?" he asks. Seeing he's coming towards me, I quickly push my chair away. I see amusement dancing in his eyes as he tauntingly leans over my desk.

Glancing down I see a picture of Debbie Myers lying on a table at the morgue. Memories of the horrendous evening quickly flash through my mind. I picture her lying dead on the carpet, her blood splattered across my bedroom wall. I remember looking down at the loaded twenty-two hanging loosely from my hand. I then recall how I disposed of the body, only to have her half-eaten remains resurface a few weeks later.

"I have proof that will put you away for a very long time." A cold shrewd smirk creeps across his face as I consider my options. I thought that I'd carefully covered my tracks, but anyone who's ever watched any type of crime story knows you can never be too sure. Then again I wouldn't put it past a low life like him to try and bluff me.

"How do I know you're not trying to run a con?"

"You want to see proof, here I'll show you my proof," he yells, reaching into his jacket. Wishing I had my gun, I anxiously look towards the small desk drawer that's now a few feet away. Gathering all the courage I could muster, I lunge for the desk. My body falls against the drawer, causing it to slam too. I see the merriment on his face as he pulls photo's out of his breast pocket. He looks down at my body sprawled across the desk.

"Did you think I was going for a gun or something?" He laughs. Dragging my chair closer to the desk, I sheepishly sit back down. Slamming the photo's down in front of me, he continues.

"Take a look at them and then tell me I'm bluffing." Scooping up the pictures, I start looking through the stack.

"Just so you know, these are copies. The originals are locked up in a safe far away from here." The first picture shows me dragging Debbie's body down my apartment steps. The next photo catches Debbie being loaded in the van. The last two captures me tossing her into the lake.

"W.. Where did you get these?"

"Let's just say big brother is always watching." He laughs. I look at the pictures again, hoping to find something I could use to dispute their authenticity. Not seeing any flaws, I mutter the next logical question.

"W.. what do you want from me?"

"I want you to represent my nephew in his murder trial," he says, snatching the pictures out of my trembling hands.

"If I refuse?" I already know the answer.

"Let's just say a little birdie will drop off a package to a certain DA I know." He smiles. The moment he said that I knew I'd been had. So I did what any other sensible lawyer would do, I agreed to take the case.

"When do you want us to meet?"

"I'll bring him by tomorrow. Just so you know, if this thing goes south for any reason, not only will you end up in prison, your wife and kid will end up just like she did, dead," he says, pointing to the pictures. Bursting into laughter, he steps out of the door.

That my dear friend was the beginning of the end. The start of a long, treacherous, adventure. A heartbreaking journey that took everything away from me.