Feb 14, 2012

Bent Arrow

     He stroked the arrow's shaft as he contemplated the scene below. No one noticed him on the window ledge. There wasn't anyone. This place was ghost town, and the granite was getting cold. Damn cold.
     For the whole thing to come off properly two unsuspectings had to pass each other at just the right moment, but Stan hadn't mentioned this wasteland was uninhabited when he'd asked Al to cover his shift. Al's regular beat by the Starbucks in Sarasota was crawling with people --it never occurred to him he'd be stuck here, freezing.  Did this place even even have high-speed? Al was sure it did not.  
     One disappointment after another. All morning. The last promising target had been the fat woman entering the bank. Al'd taken aim, ready to end it, and ... nothing. Not another soul in sight.
     He unwrapped another chocolate. Discarded red foil littered the pediment and Al was nauseous, but the wrappers covered the pigeon droppings.
     Finally he spied two people. The woman leaving the boutique paused at the crosswalk to sip her latte and check her cell just as a man parked in front of the health food store. He climbed from car and walked to the sidewalk, but paused to smooth the peeling Free Tibet bumper sticker on the rusted Datsun.  Al smiled, a bit nastily, as he nocked the arrow.  

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