people who I only then realized existed outside the colony. And as I neared the lake, I couldn’t help but stare out at the vastness of the water and be completely awed by its presence.
I shook the metaphorical sleep from my eyes and examined everything around me with a new understanding. All the way to the park, I deliberated my life and how much of it had been wasted by conformity and repetition. But I knew too that something was incredibly amiss and my missing wallet had nothing to do with it. I felt something looming, picking at my mind like a fingernail going over a scab, but I chose to ignore it, kind of like when you just know you’ll regret the morning after, but you sleep with Rebecca Hines anyway.
Reluctantly reaching into the pocket of my suit jacket, I pulled out the folded slip of paper the woman had given me in the alley. I held it between my fingers for a long moment, leery of it, like holding a spider by one leg. Finally, I opened the message to find it written in black ink, in a scrawl I had never seen before:
Nothing happened. I didn’t expect anything to happen really, but was itching to see what the note contained, nonetheless.
To entertain myself, I waited for the ‘Devil’ to make his grand appearance; but apparently, the Devil was not one for being on time.
A rollerblader whizzed past, and then a man in a blue jogging suit, headphones glued to his ears. I wondered if any of the seemingly innocent people could be the Prince of Lies. Yeah, it must be him over there , I said sarcastically to myself about a homeless man sifting through the garbage.
I laughed under my breath, shaking my head, ready to admit gullibility and be done with it, but was then startled by a familiar voice.
“So you agreed to meet me,” said the strange man from earlier. “Wise choice.”
“You...” I pointed at him, “...stole my fucking wallet and I want it back.”
The man disregarded my demand and gave his clothes a quick once-over. His slacks were pinstriped; the yellow-checkered shirt reminded me of a 60’s-era tablecloth. His long, black hair rest disheveled on his shoulders with tiny broken twigs and leaves stuck in it.
A toothpick dangled from the corner of his mouth.
He moved toward the bench and sat, crossing one leg over the other much like a woman would. He spread his arms out behind him across the back and sighed a long and heavy sigh.
I felt an odd pang of fear all of a sudden, though having no real idea about where it came from.
“Ummm...,” I said nervously. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
Really, I had started to say, “I need to get to work,” and forget about this entirely preposterous misunderstanding, but curiosity and retribution won this battle an hour ago.
I watched intently, waiting, wondering how this strange meeting was going to end. Or begin, even.
“So now let’s talk business,” he said.
I stepped toward him, the unfolded piece of paper still wedged in my fingertips. I sat with him on the bench and began to speak, but he held up his hand and hushed me. An ambulance rocketed by, followed by a roaring fire truck on the other side of the fence separating Damier Avenue from the park. I paused to let him have his moment, briefly turning toward the commotion too, though whatever was happening was too far away for me to see. Coils of black smoke rose above the trees. Sirens, fire, someone else’s chaos. The man sat on the bench listening fixedly, as if it were important to him.
And for reasons unknown to me, I dared not interrupt him.
Finally, he turned back to me. “Business,” he went on. “You agreed to meet me. Your curiosity, your desperation. I was surprised by you, I admit.”
“Desperation?”
I was only humoring him—if this guy was the Devil, then I would admit desperation. Might as well add it up there with gullibility and idiocy. I was on a roll today, after all.
The man nodded once. “Well yes,” he said, “you agreed so easily, asked
I shook the metaphorical sleep from my eyes and examined everything around me with a new understanding. All the way to the park, I deliberated my life and how much of it had been wasted by conformity and repetition. But I knew too that something was incredibly amiss and my missing wallet had nothing to do with it. I felt something looming, picking at my mind like a fingernail going over a scab, but I chose to ignore it, kind of like when you just know you’ll regret the morning after, but you sleep with Rebecca Hines anyway.
Reluctantly reaching into the pocket of my suit jacket, I pulled out the folded slip of paper the woman had given me in the alley. I held it between my fingers for a long moment, leery of it, like holding a spider by one leg. Finally, I opened the message to find it written in black ink, in a scrawl I had never seen before:
Nothing happened. I didn’t expect anything to happen really, but was itching to see what the note contained, nonetheless.
To entertain myself, I waited for the ‘Devil’ to make his grand appearance; but apparently, the Devil was not one for being on time.
A rollerblader whizzed past, and then a man in a blue jogging suit, headphones glued to his ears. I wondered if any of the seemingly innocent people could be the Prince of Lies. Yeah, it must be him over there , I said sarcastically to myself about a homeless man sifting through the garbage.
I laughed under my breath, shaking my head, ready to admit gullibility and be done with it, but was then startled by a familiar voice.
“So you agreed to meet me,” said the strange man from earlier. “Wise choice.”
“You...” I pointed at him, “...stole my fucking wallet and I want it back.”
The man disregarded my demand and gave his clothes a quick once-over. His slacks were pinstriped; the yellow-checkered shirt reminded me of a 60’s-era tablecloth. His long, black hair rest disheveled on his shoulders with tiny broken twigs and leaves stuck in it.
A toothpick dangled from the corner of his mouth.
He moved toward the bench and sat, crossing one leg over the other much like a woman would. He spread his arms out behind him across the back and sighed a long and heavy sigh.
I felt an odd pang of fear all of a sudden, though having no real idea about where it came from.
“Ummm...,” I said nervously. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
Really, I had started to say, “I need to get to work,” and forget about this entirely preposterous misunderstanding, but curiosity and retribution won this battle an hour ago.
I watched intently, waiting, wondering how this strange meeting was going to end. Or begin, even.
“So now let’s talk business,” he said.
I stepped toward him, the unfolded piece of paper still wedged in my fingertips. I sat with him on the bench and began to speak, but he held up his hand and hushed me. An ambulance rocketed by, followed by a roaring fire truck on the other side of the fence separating Damier Avenue from the park. I paused to let him have his moment, briefly turning toward the commotion too, though whatever was happening was too far away for me to see. Coils of black smoke rose above the trees. Sirens, fire, someone else’s chaos. The man sat on the bench listening fixedly, as if it were important to him.
And for reasons unknown to me, I dared not interrupt him.
Finally, he turned back to me. “Business,” he went on. “You agreed to meet me. Your curiosity, your desperation. I was surprised by you, I admit.”
“Desperation?”
I was only humoring him—if this guy was the Devil, then I would admit desperation. Might as well add it up there with gullibility and idiocy. I was on a roll today, after all.
The man nodded once. “Well yes,” he said, “you agreed so easily, asked
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