I am unable to secure a boarding pass and leave the airport but I am no longer in Atlanta, I am in St. Louis. I am working as a chef again and after prepping for dinner service I get cut for the evening and my brother is waiting for me but his car battery is dead. I get a jump box from a shed and start his car but when I come back from returning the jump box he is gone. I try to call him but his number is no longer in my phone so I go into a grocery store for something to drink.
I walk through the store for awhile, finally buying a Coke Zero from the check out lane. As I am paying the lights in the store go out and a military style strike team enters the store looking for a man. He happens to be the man that leaves the store in front of me and one of the strike force members recognize him and follows him. He takes the man into custody just as the man appears to be about to rob an elderly woman and her grandson. The strike force ends up letting the man go a few minutes later.
I have been joined by three friends of mine that I have never seen before. One of them gets in an argument with the man who was being detained and punches him in the crotch. I comment on how it sounds like a fastball hitting a catchers mitt. From there we walk four blocks through some difficult terrain for an urban neighborhood until we reach an abandoned apartment complex a block from my parents house.
One of my friends claims to have recently been a co-signer on the purchase of the building and we decide to check the place for squatters. We enter an apartment on the second floor that is well kept. There are plantain chips and a loaf of bread on the counter in the kitchen. I realize that I have been the person squatting there when I find my shoes in the bathroom.
Posts
