Sunday, July 24, 2016

Seven And Se7en

"I thought you were NEO! It's not adding up!"

"I gave you those sweet white rabbit sweets, where you can eat the wrapping paper."

"Well, I have a new boyfriend, now, and I don't need your sweets anymore. Can you leave me a lone?"

"Twenty-six fifty?"

"That'll cover it."

And that's how I decided I would join the police department of New York City. They figured I would end up dead in some kind of penitentiary or something. After having shot someone point blank in the head for making an arrangement with UPS.

"Why aren't there any true detectives around?" asks a woman who has misplaced her child at the pretzel vendor.

I give her a pretzel and suddenly she walks away, happily. Like my detective coat means nothing. I *was* the pretzel guy. Her child looks up at me, concerned about the receding apparition of her mom.

"I think she's teasing you," I tell the baby, and pick her up. We walk fast across tourists, and return the child to the mother. Nothing special. Matter of fact. Expected. Mothers don't lose children in Times Square. It doesn't happen.

I watch them walk into the stars, together.


My coat shatters. I feel that I am not a true detective.

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