Just a guy telling stories....
The man in black slips onto the street; he moves like a shadow in the dark. A light rain falls, and incredibly Clive uses the gentle sounds it makes to mask his every step. His is a profession of intense discipline, caution, and structure. If he makes a mistake, they might catch him. His life would be over.
My head spins under the hot Texas sun. I drop the rock. His blood on my hands, already tacky and drying. He had wanted my money. My money!
At first, the two men enjoyed their alarm system. They would playfully mimic its sonorous announcements. "Front door," the simulated female voice would announce in its pleasing if robotic voice.
“Hold still, you big baby, or I’ll spray it with alcohol,” Tammy says to me as she outlines my open wound with a sharpie marker. Her thinking, such that it is, is she can gauge if the infection is getting worse if it crosses the black line she’s drawing at the precise edge of my wound as it is now, Tuesday night. She has a deep maternal instinct, and I appreciate her efforts at keeping me from losing my foot. But I wonder if they aren’t overusing the ‘staff infection!’ cries. I feel shamed. To me, the wound appears to be doing fine! I got a thousand scabs growing up. This injury looks the same as those did. The difference, I guess, is I’m no longer growing up. I’m no longer on my upward climb to the midpoint of my life. I’ve peaked, and I’m already descending into that good night.
“Excuse me, but do you have these in a larger size?” I don’t know why I’m asking; I already know they don’t. And I knew this day was coming.
The stuffed manila envelope sits inconspicuously between the potted plant and the wall. I almost didn’t see it, but I dropped my apartment keys before I unlock my door. When I bent down, I saw the package.
It started with the damn tea! I’m sure of it. I’ve not felt the same since I drank the mysterious tea at the Chinese restaurant two weeks ago. Now maybe the two things are not causally related, but I seriously doubt it! I drink the strange tasting tea after my lunchtime buffet at Golden Dragon on Wednesday. All night long, I have bizarre dreams about a spirit named Golgorth. The next morning I awake possessed by a demon. It strains the limits of plausibility to think they aren’t related.
I used to get so excited when Henry would come home from school. We would play such games, sometimes for hours! Just the two of us.