Three AM in this part of the city always feels like a held breath. The hospital is a dim glow behind you now. Two more blocks, then the turn onto Maple.

You first notice him when you stop to dig your keys out of your bag. Footsteps stop too. Late. You don't turn around.

A block later, he’s still there.

Fifty feet back. Stumbling a little. Muttering something under his breath. The wind carries the sour stench of whiskey.

You walk faster.

It pulls up alongside you, engine idling, headlight throwing your shadow long across the pavement. The rider lifts his visor.