Talk
Well the point is, I think that you’re pissing a lot of people off and that you should be concerned about that.
I’m not though.
Well, then, I don’t know – I suppose that says something about who you are.
It does.
He lifts a cigarette to his lips. A red car drives slowly past – its two occupants, young black men with short hair, turn their heads in unison and look at him. He looks back, eyes burning like the end of the smoke. He notices the rosary hanging from the rear view mirror, the polished gleam of the car’s red paint. He thinks of how the blacks take such pride in their vehicles, how they treat them like people.
Are you not…I mean, are you not concerned about this situation at all?
He stares at the ground, points the toes of his right foot until he feels the stretch along the top of his foot. He makes a low sound, something like a cough combined with a murmur of satisfaction.
I am not concerned.
He relights the end of the cigarette then places the matchbox on the table, on its side.
It is 6pm.
