Gut City Blues

Well, I can only try.

StoryKettle » Red Wash » Gut City Blues

Copyright © 2010, Michael M Wayman

I've gotta plan. I found money and a gun in the jacket. I'm going to change clothes and try and get back home; but not directly. I'm going to zigzag around the country a bit and then go home.

It's all me and I and me. That's all that's in my head – how I get out of this trap.

There's a cheap clothes shop at the railway station – buy some things, especially a big woolly jumper. Into the men's toilets and out as a badly dressed girl in a big woolly jumper. Eat and drink.

In the wallet are credit cards, an address list, comb, more money, an ID card with someone else's photo on it, a piece of paper with codes, some tablets – they won't help you any more! And an ammo clip.

I put the man's clothing and the big woolly jumper in a charity container for old clothes and keep the money and the gun. Time to sit in the park and wait until dark.

How did I get here and why? I don't remember a thing. Maybe I'm not who I think I am. And why is that funny little man sitting on the bench in the corner looking at me?

He is holding a radio and pointing it at me. Why? It's getting dark. No one here but the midget and me. Is he waiting for something? Waiting for me?

I stand up, walk to him and from my blouse pull the gun.

“Oh! Don't shoot, Lady! Please don't shoot!”

“That's a lousy American accent you've got. Why are you following me?”

“Put the gun down, Lady! You don't know how to use it.” He pushes his radio at me and it wails. “You're putting out a strong signal. You want to be followed? There's a tracker in your pocket.”

I pull out the dead man's wallet and find a small blue cylinder. He grabs it. “I'll chuck it onto a truck for you.”

He walks to the road and I run in the opposite direction.