October 20, 2008


Filed under: Belles lettres — theinkhorn @ 9:30 pm

“105, 106, 107, 108…” I’m counting the number of steps it takes to get from the carpark to my apartment. Its 3 am and my 15 hour shift only just ended a half hour ago. A baby died of pneumonia earlier in the afternoon and i got to do the autopsy. As i fingered the limp little baby heart, all i could think about was the piece of kobe beef that had been sitting in my fridge for more than half a year. Best beef in the world they say.

Around me, the cars look evil. Their headlights look like eyes, slanted. On my left, a Porsche glares at me. On my right, a Maserati. The cars, they are judging me. A Beetle winks at me. A Colt rolls its headlights. The cars, they are watching me.

I’m up to 187 when i hear footsteps behind me, though I’m not sure because of the pot i smoked in the car. As I pass a shiny, black Aprilla which looks like its mooning me, I feel the cold of a stainless steel fruit knife pressed against my jugular. I freeze instinctively. The Aprilla’s laughing at me.

“Give me all your money. Don’t turn your head or i swear it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The voice is rough, coarse. Sam Elliot with a hint of Jeff Goldblum.

“Okay. Relax. I’m getting my wallet out…”

I reach for my Hermès wallet in my left back pocket slowly. As the robber focuses his attention on my left hand, my right adjusts my grip on my briefcase. I find the right angle, then grip the handle tight. The robber takes the wallet from my hands and just as i feel the knife inch away from my throat, i swing. It catches him square in the temple and knocks him out cold. He lies motionless, the knife lying some three feet away from him, glistening under the moonlight.

I bend down and inspect the man. He’s about my size, looks about my age. His clothes are dirty and smelly. He’s not wearing shoes. I force open his mouth and take a look inside. His teeth are yellow and decaying. His breath stinks.

“Scum of society.”

I stand up and am about to walk away when my briefcase suddenly opens and all my papers fall out in a mess. The latch broke when i smacked the robber in the head. I look down and something shiny catches my eye. I dig under the piles of paperwork and lying there under the medical reports and insurance claims is a brand new scalpel. I stare at it for a minute or so, then back at the unconscious robber.

You picked the wrong day. buddy.


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