Monday, October 22, 2012


Ronald’s words reach me over the beeping traffic. “Julius isn’t naked.”

No, of course not. He’s right there next to me in the car, telling me my taste in music sucks and laughing when I deny it. He’s turning off Bad Company and plugging in his iPhone. I’m hit with screeching garage death metal from hell… so loud and terrible it makes me dizzy, nauseated. He screams along.

“They spied every Dane.” Ronald makes no sense, shouldn’t be there. He’s at work.

Like a game of telephone reversed, I finally hear the truth.

Julius didn’t make it.
They tried everything.

No comments:

Post a Comment