Suburban Safari

The sun sank across the transit hub, painting the cement in gold as I set my bag down.

“Where ya headed?” a homeless man asked from the next bench.

“Prince George’s.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Oh, where those zebras are running loose?”

“Yep.”

“There’s a good bounty for catching one.” He rubbed his hands together. “Imagine holding a clean thousand dollars.”

“Last bus to Station 9 arriving now,” the loudspeaker announced.

“I don’t know about a thousand.” I stood up, shouldering the bag containing my hunting rifle. “But I might have five hundred to share with you soon.”