The neon over the bar blinked out and he heard the door open behind him. He kept walking, not turning as he heard footsteps behind him, the sound echoing around the canyon of brownstone buildings and wet streets and drowning out the sound of his hammering heart. He rounded the corner and stopped until she turned the corner and he was able to swing an arm around her neck. His hand covered her mouth and choked off her scream as he drove the knife between the c4 and c5 vertebrae and whispered into her hair,”Th-th-thank you!”
Chris was my road-dog. We’d hitched to New York and back earlier in the year. The warm weather was running out. A harsh Minnesota winter was lurking near-by; time for a road-trip.
We made our plans, and shared our weed, with a couple of other guys from our circle of survivors. We were going to The Big Easy. The other two guys, Tooth and Mike, wanted to come with us.
Tooth had just done a two year bit in some joint back-east somewhere, and was road material. The other guy, Mike, was a large, pasty faced queen who just jiggled at the thought of going to Nawlins- Land of the Drag Queens. Me and Chris shared a ” Oh, HELL NO!” look at the thought of the four of us on the side of the road.
Trains. It was the only way. And Mike was Tooth’s…
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