This is destined to be a short story.
Trying to get home, mashed up with two other strangers hoping to do same, one cabbie with twelve hours driving for the day and numb legs from it. Soon to be iced over, everything iced. Whacked last week, sent all on the sidewalk, nearly killed him. Door had to be replaced, bad weatherstripping job, rubber hoses everywhere. Fourteen year old boy taken in a white van - day light, main road - less than half a mile off a ways, raped for two hours and let go. There's a tattoo on the man's thigh. If it had been the cabbie's kid, he'd be jumping at chance to get at that guy. Wants to pull a Charles Manson, dulled pencil into the neck as quick, as quick as he can. Do it while nobody's looking. Or maybe in the ear, straight to the brain, dead in a second, nobody's got to see it happen. You know what's waiting for him at prison - payback a thousand times over. Good Fellas, great movie, boy. Four-fifty, please. Good night, have a good one.
Damn. Good good good moments. Trying to pull the Hemingway on it. Need time for reflection on it. Oh yes.
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