A Man In The Street

1/1

His hands are tight on the wheel. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he holds back answering. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

He can't remember how the argument started. It doesn't matter. A perceived slight, some small injustice. They are equally guilty, he knows that. In time they'll let it go, like they always do. Getting there is the hard part.

"Are you even listening?" his wife asks. She has her hand at the side of her head. Her eyes are on him, and this at least demands a response.

"I'm listening," he tells her.

He knows she has a reason to be angry; there's blame enough for him, but admitting that would be admitting to all the rest of it, and that he won't do. He does not consider how he's pushed her this far, nor how his refusal to engage is only making things worse.

She's no longer looking at him. He can see her from the corner of his eye. They are stopped at a red light; the road is deserted. On either side buildings recede into darkness. It is the very edge of dusk; an orange residue clings to the sky above the roofs. They have been driving for hours.

His wife switches on the radio. Irritated, he sucks on his teeth. She spends a moment fiddling with the dial. Static gives way to a man's voice.

"The city prosecutor's office has confirmed that a taser was used during the attack. This is the fifth reported incident in the past month. No word yet on whether -"

She turns it off. The light has changed. He continues along a residential street, straining to focus in the half light. His eyes are tired, and he blinks, forcing himself to check his mirrors; in the rear view, he notices the figure of a man standing behind them in the middle of the road. His face tightens. He is about to say something when his wife screams.

Her face is twisted by fear, her hands clenched in front of her mouth. She is staring out the dashboard: directly in front of the car is a man. He is dressed in a brown suit, his arms spread wide.

The driver's foot is slamming into the break pad, his hands dragging on the wheel. The car screeches forward, out of control. Just before they barrel into a lamp post, the driver catches a last glimpse of the man in the street; he is laughing, his mouth free of teeth, a gaping pit in the twilight.