VisDare 84: Waiting


The kids always asked me where my reindeer were. “In the shop,” I’d say, and then close my eyes so I didn’t have to look at their bewildered little faces anymore. Some kids kept pestering me even when I pretended to be asleep – it was New York, after all, and no one here cares much about even feigning a basic level of courtesy. To them, I’d beckon them close, and while staring at their parent or nanny or whoever didn’t know how to get them to shut up, I’d whisper ever so softly, “I killed them. Just like I’m going to kill you. Merry Christmas.” It was a joy to watch them cry.

I didn’t kill them, fer crying out loud. But this city – man, it does things to you. And if I wasn’t stuck here on the D train to hell at midnight, I might’ve been nicer.



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