the streets

This story started here.

Well, I don't have to tell you that I didn't expect anything to happen, and I guess I don't have to tell you that something did happen, or there wouldn't be any point in my telling you this story.


Carly was getting bored.


As soon as young Fifteen and I got outside, I started to have second thoughts. For one thing, the night was cold, with quite a brisk wind. Also, several of the group back in Duffy's had been concocting a scabrous limerick about Uncle Mike, and I knew none of them would think to write it down, or be able to remember it the next day. In addition, I didn't see what would be accomplished by traipsing around the cold streets, except to make young Fifteen feel foolish when nothing happened.

However, I had agreed to go along, and my mug was full, so I followed him down the street toward the docks. And, of course, however cold it was near Duffy's, it was sure to be colder down by the water.

Suddenly there was a siren, screeching tires and a loudspeaker blared, "Put that bottle down carefully and step away from it!"

"Oh, shit," said Fifteen. I couldn't see very well in the glare of the strobing spotlights on the roof of the police car, but I put the mug down on the sidewalk and stepped back from it. Then, as the car doors opened, I stepped back further, turned and pulled Fifteen quickly down an alley between two buildings.

My idea had been that the alley went through to the next block, but I must have got confused about how far we'd walked, because it ended in a wooden fence about six feet tall. I quickly kneeled and cupped my hands. "Up and over," I said. "Come on."

"But–"

"Go!" I said. He glanced at the street, where two flashlights were approaching, and he stepped into my hands. I helped him get over, then I turned to face the music.


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About Anthony Lee Collins

I write.
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