Small Places : Nick L Belardes [106 of 128]

• I give "How do you do's?" to limping bag ladies. I smile at fluffy clouds like they were put in life's playpen for me to coo at.
• Then there's the occasional near-death experience with a car not yielding to me: the unwary pedestrian. "Asshole!" I scream.
• As a suburban nearly flattens me I stomp across the street suddenly thinking: "I have the worst possible life of anyone I know."
• As I walk under my morning cloud I suddenly stop in my tracks. My name is blasted from a loudspeaker: "Willie, where are you going? Stop."
• I slowly turn only to see a cop car stopped in the middle of the road. Again I hear my name blasted along downtown streets.
• "Willie, you don't know where you're going. Stop. Think about it." I squint, wondering if God is in that vehicle or if my fly is down.
• I realize the police officer in the car is a cop I know. He's laughing because I nearly wet my pants. Thank God for the police.
• I'm miserable in fake laughter as I head up to my cubicle. The elevator is a cold, weighted ride. I hum. I giggle.