Anthony was simply walking on the street. There was nothing more to it. No suicidal ideation, no desire to to anything criminal again, no desire to go drink himself to death somewhere, nothing of the like. He was just taking a small walk on this day.

He should've known that he shouldn't have expected it to go well. Nothing ever goes well, for him. Anthony stopped and looked at whoever it was that was shouting like that, and — oh, fuck. He had half a mind to just run, but he knew that would make things much worse, so he just stood very still, and tried not to seem as nervous as he actually was.