Short Story Goodness

I have written some more of my short story, and I have a title - "Lonely Spirits." I have yet to get into the actual main part of the story, but I have it all in my head. Without further ado, part 2:

The street is busy, as always. Cars fly by, usually speeding, on any given day, one could lose control, hit Davis, it might even be easier that way. There is about 6 inches of snow on the ground. It feels cold through the holes in the bottom of his shoes. He needs new shoes. But those kids in the store whisper and make fun of him. It’s not worth it.
As Davis walks home, he does not notice how the people he passes look at him. He doesn’t want to notice. He knows he disgusts them, but he doesn’t want to see the disgust on their faces. He reaches the alley. He doesn’t walk down that alley. It would be an extra 20 minutes out of the way if he walked around, but he does anyways. Those kids are always hanging around in that alley. They’re dangerous.
Johnson is outside when he arrives home; Johnson is always nagging him to mow his lawn, complaining about the smells in his back yard, the bushes never being trimmed. Davis rushes inside, pretending he doesn’t see that pretentious bastard. Johnson hasn’t noticed him yet. Three more steps. Almost there.
“Mr. Davis, excuse me, do you have a second.”
Go fuck yourself Johnson. “What do you want Johnson.”
“I was just wondering if you needed me to mow your lawn, you see, the wife’s parents are coming this weekend, and I don’t mind doing it...”
The fucking nerve of that asshole, trying to tell me how to live my life.
“Do whatever you want Johnson, I’m busy.”
“Okay Mr. Davis, I’ll be out here if you need anything.”
Davis hates Johnson, always lording his wealth, his youth, his beautiful family over him. Davis, enters his house, seething. His living room floor is covered in old newspapers; his wallpaper is peeling around the corners. The house reeks of cat urine, even though Davis has never owned any pets. Davis retreats upstairs, he is so tired, the walk always wears him out so much, but that damn judge took his license away. He’s been driving since before that asshole judge was able to wipe his own ass, what the hell does he know.
His bedroom makes his living room look like a paradise. Dirty clothes, pizza boxes and beer bottles cover every part of the room. As he lays on his blood and urine stained mattress, he thinks of better days, when he was young, when he was strong. He imagines himself still young, still strong, as he drifts to sleep…