Leaving Kit Lacy
by David Summerfield

It was Sunday morning, when I got up, I could feel something heavy like a cop’s boot on my neck. Putting on my pants and shirt, I tied my shoes and went out into the parking lot. A rogue storm had left the sky dark and a wet film over everything. I sucked in a deep breath, heaved it back out, the air stale from all the wet trash. I stood listening to empty silence until city workers drifted in and started to clean it up. It wouldn’t be so bad when they got all this trash up, I thought, and I went to the motel lobby to get some coffee. I saw Joe and Les come through the neon haze looking like two apparitions. They came into the lobby, dropped their bags, and poured out some coffee.