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the light particles brutalizing my corneas. “Were you aware that you drove over a sidewalk?” If I said no, I was fucked. If I said yes, I was doubly fucked—there’s nothing more dangerous than a man with a loaded question... except one with a loaded gun too. Not having the wherewithal to find an alternative, I told him the truth. Then came the multi-thousand dollar question, “Have you been drinking tonight?” “No sir,” I lied, wondering if anyone but the drunkest of the drunk ever actually said yes. “Sir, I can smell it.” Could he? I thought. I don’t smell anything but maybe I’m just used to it ... or maybe he’s lying. Truth can be a slippery concept for a cop. Then I remembered about the open flask my previous self tucked between the seat and the console. Godfuckingdamnit! “Sir would you like to step out of the car for me.” An order in the guise of a question. Coldness in the pit of my stomach, I obliged. After stepping out, I noticed a hitherto unseen officer standing on the other side of my car. With the flashlight finally out of my face, I got a good look at the two perpetrators. The one on my side of the car was a cleancut Asian man with a good three inches on me. His 75

The Metric Issue 08 - Literary Magazine  
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