This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.
“This used to be a decent part of town,” Doreen murmured.
Doreen crossed her arms protectively over her purse and glanced furtively at the other people who were waiting at the bus station. She took a deep breath, tried to relax, but couldn’t.
Doreen abruptly pawed through her purse, rapaciously pulling her sunglasses from their case and jabbing them onto her face. This helped soothe her mood. No one could see where she was looking now. Anyone who might be planning to mug her would be wise to think twice; she might be looking right at them and be on her guard.
Emboldened, Doreen let her eyes wander suspiciously over the group. Across from where she stood was a tall man. Doreen could tell by his prissy haircut that he was queer. On her left two Chinese girls were chattering back and forth in what sounded to Doreen like gibberish.
“Learn to speak American,” Doreen muttered under her breath.
Doreen cast a sidelong glance at pale girl with dyed black hair and enough junk in her face to set off an airport metal detector. A black youth in a Timberwolves jersey ambled up to the bus stop. Doreen wondered if he was carrying a gun.
“The cream of the crop here today,” Doreen observed snidely.
She started violently as a grizzled homeless man jostled past her.
“He nearly knocked me over!” Doreen shrilled, scanning the group for a sympathetic face. A man she hadn’t noticed before was smiling at her. He was white, he was well dressed, and he was Doreen’s new best friend.
“Are you all right?” he asked amiably.
“I’m fine. I just wish people like that would find someplace else to go and leave decent people alone,” Doreen fumed.
“My grandmother used to say that God created everyone equal,” the stranger gently reprimanded.
Doreen’s face flushed and her lips tightened.
“Take a look around. Some people are just a waste of oxygen.”
The man’s eyes took on a faraway look.
“There may be something to what you say,” he murmured.
The rumble of the transit bus shook the man from his reverie and he held out his arm like an usher.
“Ladies first,” he smiled.
Doreen elbowed her way toward the front of the group. She wanted to pick whom she sat next to.
Strong arms shoved Doreen from behind and she toppled forward, arms flailing, into the street.
As Doreen’s life came to a surprise ending under the black front tire of a metro transit bus, one particular gentleman in the crowd suppressed a smile.
He felt confident that he’d done his part to make the world a better place.
