Parakeet
I thought about killing her. The traffic outside the window fractured through rain. Glancing over my shoulder , I could see no one followed me. Glad I thought about MARTA. It may be a political joke, but it gets me where I need to go. The blonde crew cut wig, loose flannel shirt and ratty camera bag made me look like just another internet entrepreneur. Everybody should have a good con. Lord knows, she did. I almost didn’t recognize the squeaky voice, and then I wish I hadn’t. I had to disappear the last time I heard it. Two weeks in Mexico, acting as a mule not my kind of fun and I didn’t even get laid for the trouble. Three years later, I was still trying to forget her and Guadalajara. If I thought moving put her in the rearview, I was wrong. Like a bad penny, she was back and all she would say is to meet on the train. What kind of harebrained scheme had she thought up this time? ...