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Today, James Parker noticed the sky. He noticed how much the grey has
taken over. The faces on the street were broken by whatever madness
their eyes have seen. Destitution and dampness. Darkness and a heavy
burdensome weight fell on the old man's shoulders.
Now James Parker
watched two men fight over the woman whom they both claimed to own;
she was having a cigarette to keep warm- arms folded, in tight,
jacket ripped. James Parker did not look away fast enough and was
welcomed with her high screeching voice, “What you lookin' at, ya'
old cunt.”
James hides a sharp gasp and returns his eyes to the ground in front
of him, thinking to himself, shouldn't have made eye contact,
James.
He replays the encounter over in his mind, but this time
pretends the two men became enraged and one of them pulled a gun and
shot James. His daydreams were broken by a speeding taxi, provided a
great rush of cold air and mist from the previously dormant moisture
on the road. He was startled and his eyes once again lifted. This
time he saw a young boy, no older than twelve, wearing all black with
a tattoo on his neck that read, “Served”.
He stops walking and stares at this young criminal and notices the
dozens of people walking by saying nothing- doing nothing- to stop
this theft. The old man let out a labored bark, “Hey! Get away from
my car!”
James surprised himself with that glimpse of intimidation, sending
the boy running. After a few uninterrupted blocks, James Parker found
himself across the road from Sammy's Diner and even the sight of it
sent a giggle through his spine. The air was still as he waited for
the little white man on the traffic light to shine, signaling it's
safe to walk.
A sound of anger and hostility came grew a few feet beside James, in
front of a red rusted Lincoln Oldsmobile. Both of these men should
be in prison, the old man thought to himself.
They were grimy, middle-aged men- both with the beginnings of a
beard and maybe two or three inches separating them in height. The
dopefiend in the green beanie claimed that the drugs he bought were
cut with baking powder while the drugman claimed it was because the
cash was short. James Parker felt comfortable staring, as both of
these two men were far too concerned with their business at hand.
A fair amount of expletives were used, none correctly. The drugman
was trying to come off as sophisticated but only succeeded in making
up words. Now, after crossing the street, James could still hear the
argument growing louder and unstable.
The two men arguing over the girl, the young criminal, the dopefiend
and drugman. All of these melancholy events were briefly chased from
his mind when Sonya bumped into him- a beautiful young Hispanic girl, maybe nine years old,
with a wide smile. Skin and eyes and hair all the same color brown.
Her hair and eyes might have been a little darker than her skin, but after a tan they would
have become the same.
Sonya wore a brilliant blue dress that
draped over her small body. She didn't belong here.
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