Monday, 20 January 2020

the honest truth

the clock struck five. the sun was eye level and turned the bridge gold. i was in a fight for my life. i ran as fast as i could to the bank. he was standing there trying to look bored. he had a blade taped to his ankle and a roll of cash in his pocket. he laughed to see me running out of breath. just in time. i had my tights on beneath a canvas jacket. we walked several blocks past the homeless encampment with its tents and bicycle parts and people sitting around a fire. did you finish? he asked. i won't take nothing if you're not done yet. i told him i had. i had spent the last four weeks chained to a desk writing three thousand words a day. i pulled the manuscript out from under my jacket and his eyes flashed. he stared at the cracks in the sidewalk. he didn't want me to see them light up. i took the money and bought myself a room for a week at the citizen hotel. i asked for a window to cesar chavez park so i could look down upon the fountain surrounded by benches, with the gratitude one has when one remembers being down and out. i situated my desk just so. it wouldn't take long to tell the honest truth.

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