A Very Short Story

"hey"

Dark, and distant sounds of tortured traffic.

"hey!"

Closer.

Quarter-note steps, andante (con moto), a determined don't-fuck-with-me casual, now with foreign eighth notes percolating throughout.

"Hey!"

Turn,

"Oh"

"Hey! What all ya got there? You headed home? Here, let me give you a hand with some of that."

Groceries. And card shop novelties- gifts. He takes the groceries.

"Oh, okay, um" chin dips into pinks and bobs up "thanks"

Consort of quick clicks and plush, long pads. It was only just another block. Over curbs, in and out of ocher pools, traverse the alley, unnecessary shallow stairs. The door.

"Okay, well, hey, have a good night," his hand creates a cylindrical place in the cold, spread through like and weak ice and a figure become.

Gone.

Chill wind clinks against, it shatters, scattered among the asphalt, grit, and gravel, dark, and distant sounds of tortured traffic.