Shit

There are choices. This one is bigger, more easily handled. This one is fresh: it smells and the flies are all around it. I take it and it seeps through the cracks in my fingers. The flies follow me as I pass the shacks, the feeling of filth in my spine, the lurch in my belly driving me forward.

   Shacks turn to houses then offices half an hour from where I started. I reach the standstill. They are angry. I can see it. One smacks the dashboard. The other mutters into his steering wheel. I stand, hand cradled back.

    A silver car comes, the light bouncing off it blindingly. He smiles at nothing, plays with his phone. His watch is silver too. He rolls his window down. This was a mistake. I walk over as casually as I can.

   I grab him; bring his head out of the car so he can’t close the window. I show it to him. Bring him close. His face is full of fear. Fear on his eyes like ours when the fires came through and our roof collapsed. Fear on his eyes like mothers’ when our little brother stopped crying. He is shaking now. I say, “wallet,” and he fumbles. I grin. For a moment, we have swapped places. I take what is mine and run, shaking my hand so sending the shit off in spray.