Friday, April 23, 2010

The Streak - 77

I get up on my feet, a little stiffly. Pick up my duffel bag and wander up the hall. I fall into a men's room. I fill my hand with soap and let the water run hot. And then I wash the spit of my double off my face.

I take a good look in the mirror. There's blood streaming out of my nose and down my chin, quickened and diluted by the water. I'm gonna have a shiner that's for sure.

I grab a few of the rolled-up fancy little towels. I hold one to my face. Put the others in my pocket.

I get back to the lobby and there's a man fitting Joe's description. He's sitting in an armchair by the lobby window, reading the business section of the Post-Dispatch.

I stand before him. He puts down his paper and gets up.

"Meester Benjameenson?"

I sigh. "Yes."

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Thanks. I'll be all right. Thanks."

"Very well, sir. My name is Jesus."

"Nice to meet you, Jesus." We shake hands.

"Come with me, I take you to the airport. Yes?"

"Yes."

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