"Mijo!" I heard my mom yell from downstairs. She had called me at least four times now, and I was finally getting dressed. I'm lazy, okay? It's not my fault. Well, it is, but that's fine.

I put on a hoodie and some jeans that barely fit and slid into my shoes. 

"I'm coming," I said. I grabbed my pack of cigarettes, shoved them into my pocket, and grabbed the sweater I was working on. 

I walked downstairs, and my sister, Eliza, and my brother, Brandon, were there as well.

"Yeah?" I said, leaving my knitting on the table and going to raid the fridge.

"You look like Miles Morales." I know Eliza's stupid ass was not talking. And you are built like a giraffe, little bitch. 

"I second that, but like the prowler, one of him, and instead of being half Puerto Rican, you are half Mexican. You still can't speak Spanish though," Brandon said, adding insult to injury because it was make fun of my hair day and the fact that I'm the oldest and somehow the only sibling who doesn't speak fluent Spanish.

"I think it's because of the braids," Eliza said.

I sat down at the table with the two of them and continued my knitting

"Y'all are just racist."

"How can we be racist if we are also half black and half Mexican?"

"Because-."

Mom interrupted me and said, "Did you finish everything I asked you to do, Mijo?" 

"Yes," I said, and she kissed the side of my face.

"Unemployed, high school dropout; all you do is smoke, and mom still loves you more than us," Brandon said.

Brandon was 17, and Eliza was 15. 

"It's because I do all of the chores and cook for you guys," I said, fixing the stitch I just messed up.

"Leave your brother alone and let's go," my mom said, grabbing her bag. They had to go to school and she had to go to work.

"Bye, Mijo, remember to smoke outside," she said, and just like that, the front door shut.

My parent's jobs allowed us to live comfortably, but they couldn't afford to send 3 kids to college, so I took one for the team.

I wasn't good in school, and my younger siblings were above average in everything, so I dropped out so my parents didn't have to send all three of us to college and be in debt for the rest of their lives. 

My mom was the only one I told, and she screamed at me for being at least weak, and I know she is grateful now.

I stood up, grabbed my keys off the table, and walked out. I locked the door, and I sat on the porch. 

I put down my knitting and lit a cigarette. I put my cigarettes back in my pocket, picked up my knitting, and continued to knit as I walked.

I was walking to the park to sit down because, yeah. I spend most of my days walking around and smoking.

I smiled as the park came into my view.

Was I a disappointment? Yes.

My mom is too family-oriented to kick me out, and if it were up to my dad, I would have been homeless a hot minute ago.

Now I just sell the stuff I knit online and make money to buy cigarettes and more yarn.

I sat down in the park. It was peaceful.

I continued to knit; I was going pretty fast, so I think I was going to finish the sweater today.

I don't really remember when I got into smoking, but I've been hooked. It's pretty problematic, but I love doing it.

It made me feel at peace, relaxed, and just great.

I heard screaming, and a kid was running toward me.

Please leave me alone. I just want to smoke and knit. Please no.

Please no-. "Mr., can you help me?" No, kid, I'm not fucking helping you.

"Yeah?" I stood up and stomped the perfectly good cigarette out.

I followed the kid and held my knitting.

Another kid was crying.

"My friend hurt himself; please help us, Mr.," the kid said. This is very trap-coded but whatever.

I dug through my pockets. Band Aid perfect.

"Can you get water and rinse it off?" I asked, and the kid nodded, pulling out his water.

I helped him pour it on his friend's injury.

I patted it dry with whatever I could find, and I peeled off the bandage.

"There, is that better?" I asked, and the kid nodded.

Did you really need to bring me over here for this?

I got my ass up, lit another cigarette, and continued my knitting.

I snapped my head back.

"Give it back, little brat," I said. The little shit stole one of my knitting needles.

The kid smiled at me as he started to run.

I took the cigarette out of my mouth and blew, put it back in my mouth, and bolted after this kid.

Thank God I was like 5'4 because I was built like a child, and it lowered the chance of me getting the cops called on me.

The kid ran up the playground.

"Brat, give it back," I said sternly. My 21-year-old bones hadn't done this much physical activity since I dropped out of high school.

"No," the kid said, then stuck his tongue out at me.

"You little-." I heard a loud bang, and I felt myself duck down.

There it was again and again. Definitely gunshots.

I looked up and pulled one of the kids down and then the little shit who had my knitting needle.

"You guys are okay," I said, and there was another gunshot.

"Give it back, and then you guys run, okay?" I said, and the crying brat gave me back my knitting needle.

"Don't go that way; go around those trees and don't look back," I said and the kids nodded.

I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth and coughed. My smoker's lungs were also hindering my ability to do any physical activity.

I put it back in my mouth and continued knitting while walking over to a bench. 

There was screaming and another round of 4 shots. I sighed.

I have like 2 fucks to give, so I am just going to pray a stray bullet doesn't hit me because that would be inconvenient.

I coughed again.

Saving some random kids in the park from stray gunshots was not on my agenda today; I just wanted a nice, calm day in the park.

Another gunshot. God damn. I think you have proved your point.

"I don't give a FUCK! YOU OWE ME MONEY AND YOU DON'T HAVE IT!" A voice screamed, and I mean, screamed.

I had enough saving people for one day, so I am just going to mind my business because minding your business is how you don't get a bullet in your dome.

Fine, one look won't hurt. I turned around. Yeah, I can't see shit I don't have my contacts on. 

Is blindness a side effect of smoking too much?

Probably.