Ruebin couldn't see the end of the pier. He knew it was out there like the business end of a Mossberg 12 gauge shoved into a darkened crack dealer's living room. He could feel the steady pounding against the century old pilings under his feet. The spray dampened his cheap Kmart sweater.
The other thing Ruebin didn't know is just what the hell he was doing here. The last clear memory he had was of his alarm clock buzzing and a swiping hand meant to hit the snooze. He was dressed and standing on a darkened pier now. What could be no less than 12 hours later, but he truly didn't know for sure.
Time and date, two more things Ruebin didn't know.
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