Spare
Matthew Ryan Fischer
“The gang is bold, committing robberies in broad day light and
wearing no masks.”
“No masks?”
“No masks.”
“Then they should be easy to identify.”
“You’d think so. But not a one has been yet.”
“Do I know you?”
“Do you think you know me?”
“What sort of answer is that?”
“I’m sorry, maybe I have one of those faces that seems familiar.”
What a strange man, she thought, watching him walk way as if he
didn’t have a care in the world.
When his fist connected, it seemed to melt into the man’s face,
like it was dull pudding or thick mud. His fist seemed to sink in and the man’s
face seemed to smear.
Was he going insane?
Always carry a spare.
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