5. “Common’ there must be more!” The man menaced David Green with a small black pistol. “That’s all,” Green lisped, drunk. “Drank it all. Gone. Bad day. Money all gone. Everything gone.” “Let’s go to the ATM. Common,” the man grasped Green roughly, and Green lost his footing, falling toward the mugger. The man shot and Green fell into a pile of garbage. “Oh shit. Fuckin shit,” the mugger backed away and ran. Green mumbled something into yesterday’s New York Times, which was blowing around the trash like a guardian spirit. Then he stared mealy eyed Death in the face and was quiet.