Stay Tuned, page 7

A brown exit sign read: Scenic Overlook 500 Yards. On an impulse, Milo signaled, slowed, and took the exit. There were a few cars parked in the lot, and people milled about them and along the stone wall at the edge of the cliff and near where a woman tended a Sabrett stand. The BMW rolled to a halt between the freshly painted lines; Milo pulled the hand brake, waited for the song to trail off and shut off the engine.

He followed the rock wall past the edge of the parking area where it sloped down and trailed off into the woods. He leaned over the wall and looked down at the river far below, following its current towards the bridge he had crossed not long before. The red disc of the sun was sinking into the haze generated by the city. Lifting a post of his sunglasses with his thumb, he tried to find his office building, concentrating so hard on the dim shapes in the penumbra of the sun he failed to note the quick footfalls and gruff, muttering voice advancing towards him along the path.

...all alike they just twist your balls 'til you scream and then fucking shush you yeah like to give hers a twist is she had 'em and she fucking thinks she does god strike me down if I ever so much as..."

Passing him, the man jostled Milo's elbow and sent his sunglasses skittering down the rocky face into the river. Milo turned to see a muscular form clad in faded jeans and studded leather jacket continuing down the path toward the parking area.

"Asshole," Milo called out when the man was well out of earshot, "those glasses cost me eighty bucks!" Christ, he could've knocked over, he thought.

Milo walked on and came to a small outcropping of rock jutting out over the cliff. Resting her head on her arms on the steel barrier there was a woman, dressed like the man who had knocked into Milo. As he approached, he could hear her sobbing. "Look, is there anything I can do?" he asked, or rather would have if he thought there'e be a way to connect with her. He felt he should comfort her. He wanted to touch her, but felt the presence of an invisible barrier between them.

In the end, he said nothing. The waves of her grief radiated through him and he said nothing. She turned, snuffling, shook her hair from her face, and stared at his passive, naked, frustrated eyes.

Go to the next page.

Make it stop! Go back to my home page.

© 1991 David Cohen channels and nothing's on.

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page