When Josh left the hotel on the eleventh day, a cool brackish wind blew off the bay and made him shiver. He bought a coffee from the McDonald’s in Chinatown. Prostitutes gathered for breakfast, their sequins and satin rumpled and stained. Doctors and nurses rushed in for coffee and biscuits, a blur of blue and green, their clogs squeaking on the restaurant floor. Josh sat at a stool by the window. Pedestrians hurried past, heads bowed against the wind, umbrellas at the ready.
Josh day-dreamed about lying in bed back in Maryland, the muffled sound of his parents talking over eggs and bacon filtering up the stairwell. Across the street he saw Nikko walking with another man in a black leather trench coat. Josh could not see the man’s face, but he could see his silver hair pulled back into a small pony-tail. The man gripped Nik’s arm, and even though Nik talked and even laughed, there was something pinched about his face that showed he was scared.
Josh’s stomach burned. The coffee filled him with nausea. He pitched the half-full cup and ran out the door. Cars and buses flew by. The man disappeared around the corner. The light flipped to green and Josh bolted across the street, almost bowling over a bent-over Chinese man pushing a wagon filled with handbags and bright scarves. By the time Josh reached the corner, he saw no sign of Nik or the man. Boarded-up warehouses lined the short block and, at the end, a ramp led to the roar of the highway. A crumpled piece of newspaper blew towards him and it began to rain.
The eleventh installment of The Runaway. To read the rest, go ==> HERE. As always, I appreciate you taking the time to read my words. Peace...