by John Riley
iv
Above Ground
Sam eye-balled the mangled mess of a boy racer wrapped in car metal before stopping at the diner. Lugging a punch-drunk suitcase and a head full of appointments reckoned on the lost soul at the back could be the guy called Joe.
The gum-chewing waitress in pink nylon took the hint, carrying on cleaning tables and looking back at them in that suggestive way.
Joe clamped his mouth shut and never looked up when Sam slid onto the seat.
Sam eyed up the lad, gave him a moment, then an offer spoke real low, like if not wanting to be overheard.
“Nasty mess back there, crashing out of life so soon after me helping you out back there. Your soul is property of another you know, anyhow, what will you sell for another chance of life?”
Joe, thinking through a long list. He passed over a name.
Sam sat laughing, a sidelong glance at the waitress. “You got a deal, get in the suitcase, I reckon I’ve found you another body.”
On the jukebox, playing quietly again, Blue Velvet.
-end-
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.