Etched in the window glass, she eyed a piece of graffiti. All the money spent on the light rail, to help people get around easier, improve their lives and the environment, some asshole writes graffiti on the train.
Some asshole like him, Brandy figured.
She wished Honda hadn’t recalled their airbags. Then she wouldn’t be in this mess, standing next to this devil. How much longer would it take Honda to fix her car, she wondered? Was that fire in his eyes? Did she actually see flames? And tiny horns?
How much longer must she put up with public transportation?
If it wasn’t her car getting recalled, it was always something.
The train jolted; everyone swayed with the movement, like water vacillated in a bowl.
Angel jostled against Brandy, and she could swear she felt him grope her tits as he did.
Then, quickly he moved away. But the crowd was so thick, he only managed a few feet.
Again, Brandy thought on the exquisite bottle of Beringer White Zinfandel. The one she had saved all month.
Suddenly, everything was okay.
She went to stroke her gold chain, looked down at her violated tits, and saw the chain was gone.
Grinning, he looked her over. She could feel his fiery eyes on her.
Among the nest of gold chains about his neck, she saw her chain: the little cocky, arrogant prick!
He had stolen her chain!
Now he was grinning, daring her to do something about it.
Over the intercom, the next stop was announced. The doors opened.
Brandy waited.
The doors closed; Brandy grabbed all the chains from Angel’s neck. She leapt from the train!
The daring leap thrilled her. Snatching the chains from Angel’s neck, taking back what was rightfully hers.
It was exhilarating.
She felt more alive than she’d ever been.
Then Angel was prying the doors open.
She felt cast into some surreal horror flick, her world turned upside down. Wedging one arm through the gap, he pried the doors open. Then his other arm was through.
The train pulled away, picking up speed. No, he was not going to make it.
Please, she prayed-
no, no, no, no.
Thank god, she was saved.
He pried open the doors and, jumping from the train, he looked to Brandy with eyes like murderous slits against the glaring sun.
Screaming, she ran.
Angel chased on her heels, shouting, “You’re fucking dead bitch when I catch you!”
Her shopping bag flopped wildly at her side.
She ran-so fast-the people, and storefronts, and the buildings she ran past, blurred into ghostly echoes.
