(the title comes in the end)

a hulk of a guy brushed past him on his way out.

he stopped for a bit, but only in thought. this was the way the city was. people hurt you and moved on. no apologies. no remorse. nothing.

his second had just broken off with him.

'it's getting too tough', she had said.

'i'll set it right', he had offered, 'just go with me this one time. we'll be okay.'

she said no. he finished his coffee. left the muffin half eaten. paid at the counter. hugged her one final time and left.

he looked back. she was on the phone. her face betrayed no emotion.

he wrapped his jacket closer against the winter chill.

there was no reason to take this badly. this had happened before.

the ecstasy. the agony. the deja vu.

thinking about it, he let out a laugh. a dark little smirk that laughed at everything bad the world had to offer.

he bought a cigarette at a nearby store. just one as opposed to a pack so he wouldn't chain.

an auto passed. he waved a hand but it didn't stop.

he stood around. an auto came round. slowing down by the side. he asked if he'd go by the meter. the driver refused.

he got in, muttering a profanity under his breath.

he got off near his place. bought another smoke. went up. unlocked his place. went to the bathroom. unwrapped a wilkinson double sword razor.

looked in the mirror.

'why so serious?' he asked his face. paused for a bit. the idea seemed nice.

The Secret Origins of the Joker