The Thrill

051311

  When I emerge from the ladies, back to the tinned produce and bottled pop of the gas station, everything has changed. New York New York is playing over the tinny tannoy, its pace slowed considerably by either a bad cassette or the shocking scene I find playing out before me. Either way it earns an all new eerie melancholy.

  Delta, Omega and Freckles are lined up by the til, staring at some unknown entity that is, to me, conveniently blocked by an aisle of confectionary. I blink and when my eyes re-open they are focused on the mirror in the corner of the shop. The assailant stands there brandishing a meaty looking sawn-off, dangerously homemade by the looks of it, judging by the rough hew of the barrels. If I was a cartoon character I would gulp, but now is not the time for such impossible imaginings.

  The gun is trained on the kid – who isn’t looking nearly as post-cavalier-douche as I remember -  and its owner is ordering Freckles in a gutteral growl to retrieve the contents of the safe and deposit them alongside his winnings from the already ransacked till. Greedy, I can’t help but think.

  Time is of the essence. If I were anyone else – if Delta and Omega were anyone else – I might just wait until it’s all over and write out the eye witness statements and tell a sketch artist what I know and leave it to the cops and hope, pray, no one gets splattered in the process. But I am who I am. The plan is everything and it begins to formulate flawlessly, numbers and equations and distances and angles and cross-referencing fluorescent glare from gun-metal and this is it – this is what I live for. The Thrill.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Well holy hell, this was a long time coming! The first part, Roadtrippin’, was one of the first stories I wrote on this site. Full circle or WHAT. Finally felt right, so I wrote.

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~ by Joseph Blame on May 13, 2011.

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