Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Valet


All he could remember thinking later was "Fuck! What the fuck!" And then the awful eternity, that must've only really have been a an instant, where he couldn't decide if he should run or stay put. He ran.

Over the screams, over the blaring sirens of emergency vehicles he could hear his breath, heavy and laboured and his feet slapping the pavement in his shiny black shoes. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He could taste the iron flavour of blood in his mouth as his lungs became over exerted. He wanted to tear off the bright orange jacket that constricted his movement but he couldn't do that without stopping, and the noise behind him did not make him want to stop.

The pain in his throat was becoming unbearable and the night air was causing his eyes to water, blurring his vision. He spied an alleyway, darted in and dove behind a dumpster. He clawed at the waistcoat while trying to keep his breathing quiet. That was when he noticed the dead-end.