Thursday, April 28, 2011

Chapter 6

I've been in bed for hours, probably more like days. The act in and of itself was so innocent, yet it plays on loop in my head like a perverse intruder of my thoughts. Those two men, tearing at the ATM, wrenching it from its hold on the earth. I maintain apathy but can't forget it. Hopeless and indifferent I decide to report it. I slouch out of bed and shuffle all the way through Watershed Heights and out into the street. The luminescent orange glow from the street lamps hang the air heavy in front of my face. The stagnant, thick, air is almost too much to breath. My breaths are therefore shallow. I try to breath deeply, just once, and find I can't. I just can't. My lungs won't take in the air, they just won't accept the thick, musty air any more then they must to keep working.

I pass the Vietnamese restaurant, and then Foo Food, and finally the laundromat. Every previous encounter with the police has made me uncomfortable. Simply the thought of the police makes me anxious, though I cannot name a reason for this. I've never been in serious trouble. The police just have bad vibes. I can't imagine a person who may hate their job more.

Without further ado I enter the police station.

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