Thursday, March 08, 2007

Spadina Station platform, at the end, past the bulge.

Caucasian male, mid 40s with long spikey hair and a distinct pattern in his thin beard. He wears tight black jeans, white running shoes and a black leather jacket over a concert t-shirt.

Wild Fire, Nelson DeMille (Warner Books)

Page 475:

He had our notebooks now, and I knew he couldn't read my notes because no one, myself included, can read my handwriting. But he said to Kate, whose handwriting is very neat, "I see you have a logical mind. Rare for a woman."

She replied, of course, "Fuck you."

He rubs his wrist and pops a pill, his addiction the result of eighteen years of torque. He stands at the coffee machine and watches the cup drop, first a shot of creamer, then a stream of sludge. He wipes his face and pats his cheeks taking the cup to the window overlooking the parking lot, the sun rising. Two doubles in a row for three months. Lunch at four in the morning and thirty minutes off the line. He feels the glow building, a tightening in his throat. He's going to do it. Today he's going to do it. The stores won't open for another hour so he'll stop by McDonald's and grab some pancakes and sausage. She won't know. He sips his coffee and fights a tear, rubbing the back of his neck. He drops the cup into the trash, a tiny wave slopping over its lip, and nods to no one, scratching his ear. The second the stores open. He knows just the one too. He's finally getting it right. His girl. She's going to love it. She's going to smile on their wedding day.


probitionate said...

"...his addiction the result of eighteen years of torque."

Brilliant. Absolutely, positively brilliant.

As is just about everything I've read. (I'll have to send you an email, because if I commented each time, you'd think me a bit 'touched'.)

Well done, you.

Julie Wilson said...

Haha, I, too, could be mistaken for 'touched' at times. I've decided it's a good thing!