He stuck the helmet on my head and dragged me into the street. I waved goodbye to Nana who was hooting into her popcorn, slid on some loafers and grabbed a cardigan-purposely seeking the most ridiculous wishy-washy attire to wear on Dan’s beefy man-cycle. I said to Dan, “Isn’t this police brutality, Detective?”ĭan pointed at my sock-covered feet. “Everything all right, Caesar?” Nana called from the living room. I tried to slam the door, but he stuck his boot in the threshold and held the front door open with his palm. Go screw yourself.” I would have said fuck but I didn’t have another quarter for the jar. He had a shiny black helmet under his arm, which he thrust into my stomach with a wop. I opened the door, six o’clock Monday evening, the sun setting, the pigeons roosting on the ledges, and Dan Albright stood on Nana’s doorstep with a scowl on his face and those shades covering his eyes.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |