Perception

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The light at the end of the tunnel may be an oncoming dragon.

Unknown

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   “Watch it!” an angry frazzled looking man in a crumpled dress suit growled as the jostling crowd slammed me against him.

   “Sorry,” I mumbled apologetically before disappearing into the sea of faces. I crashed into three more people before safely making it to the small postage size park next to the state library.

    “Well that was fun,” I declared sarcastically as I flopped down next to Petra. “I actually thought I might drown a few times there.”

   She snickered absently, well used to my grumbling. She was stretched out on the still damp grass staring up. I leaned back too but supported my weight on my elbows, not wanting a wet top. Looking up, I couldn’t see anything interesting.

   “What are you looking at?” I wondered out loud.

   “I’m wishing for the sun,” was her only reply.

     Well that made no sense. Silently I hoped she hadn’t started reading poetry. I didn’t know why she was even bothering to look. During summer, one or two stray beams of light might fight their way through the perpetual blanket of smog and around the grey towering buildings to fall for a second or two upon the ground. But in late May, this close to winter? No chance.

    “If wishes were horses then we’d both be riding right now,” I nudged her playfully, “what would you call yours?”

    She twisted her head to look up at me. “I’d call him Bob. Anyway, nothing useful, you?”

   I pulled out the collection of stolen wallets I had hidden in my pockets and started to go through them.

   “Why don’t people carry cash around anymore?” I growled annoyed.

   “To bug you of coarse,” she replied as she struggled to sit up. Laughing, she grabbed the small pile of condoms I had pulled from one guys wallet and fanned herself. “You know what this means don’t you?”

    “Water bomb assassinations,” I laughed too, already beginning to plan who I would hit first. Grabbing them off her, I stuffed both them and the wallets into the backpack. “Come on lets go see what Rogers will give us for these.”

     It was as we were turning on to Baker Street that I saw him again.  I was so astonished by the sight in front of me that I actually laughed for the second time that day. A little white haired old woman was standing in the middle of the walkway. One of her bags must have ripped because all around her were tins of food and stray fruit. Immanuel was kneeling at her feet trying to help but every time he went to pick something up she would whack his hand with her cane.

    Walking up the inclined street, I grabbed stray oranges and a can of tomato soup, added them to my bag.

   “Get,” whack, “your,” whack, whack, “thieving hands,” whack, “off,” whack, “my stuff.”

   As we got closer, I started peeling the last orange I had picked up. Really I don’t know why he bothered. Firstly, because she obviously didn’t want his help and secondly… well why help anyone period?

   “That’s it Grandma, hit him again,” I encouraged as I took a bite from the sweet flesh.

   She stopped mid swing and looked up at me, passing a segment over to Petra. The old biddies face when three shades of red as she began to hyperventilate; the gold cross around her neck actually began to jump around under the heaving of her bosom.