September 12 - Unusual
Two men sit on a bench by the side of the road, waiting for a bus perhaps. The man on the left is somewhat bedraggled, a messy mop of salt and pepper hair atop a tweed jacket, somewhat worse for wear. His small, round glasses perch on the edge of his nose, ready to pounce off at any moment. He’s a professor, perhaps. Or at least the type. The man on the right looks far more professional, a black fedora perched over a classy black and white suit, accented with a light blue pocket square. This man is also fully bald, alopecic even, with bright eyes the color of freshly-mown grass, and bright white teeth so orderly they could be piano keys. He’s probably a businessman, though it’s hard to judge.
The man on the left turns to the other. “So what brings you out to this part of the city? Not a ton of business out by the colleges, as I understand it.”
The man on the right doesn’t seem to understand that he’s been asked a question, but he looks at the other man like he heard some strange noise. He looks him dead in the eye, head slowly tilting to the side while his eyes stay locked.
The man on the left responds, though the bald man said nothing. “Oh hahaha, yeah totally. It’s a weird town sometimes, that’s for sure. You waiting for the red line?”
Again, the man on the right says nothing, just stares the other man dead in the eye.
The man on the left replies again. “I gotcha, that makes sense. Well, I’ve got to get going!”
The man in the tweed jacket stands up, gives the other man a slightly ironic bow, then walks into the middle of the street, where the newly-arrived red line bus strikes him down, killing him instantly.
The bald man nods at this, writes something down, and walks away.