7. The Dust

P:”Where did you put it?”

R:”It?”

P:”The wristband you gave me.”

R:”It was a weapon.”

P:”I know.”

R:”…”

P:”When did you remove it?”

R:”Do you want it back?”

P:”No.”

R:”Then…”

P:”Why remove it?”

The streets are half-crowded.

That’s possible.

People walking, disheartened.

Many looking confused.

Just perambulating.

P:”You see that?”

R:”I’m right next to you.”

People itching their skin.

Insistently.

Trying to remove something that doesn’t belong to them.

P:”What will they do with these plants?”

R:”You’re awfully anxious about this.”

P:”Why did we get them back?”

R:”…”

P:”?”

R:”Walk faster.”

P:”Where?”

R:”Follow me.”

P:”We’re tracked?”

R:”That’s likely.”

P:”Why show them that we know they’re here?”

We swing from the street to an alleyway.

P:”We’re still on track?”

R:”You ask many questions.”

From the alley we watch the street.

Looking for our pursuers.

The alley’s darker.

On the street the light beams.

That’s why I couldn’t see it.

A fine dust, gleaming.

It slowly flows into the alley.

P:”Let’s move.”

R:”Where do we go?”

P:”I’ll follow you.”

R:”…”

We move off the alley.

We weren’t followed.

Except by that dust.


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