Dreams of Angels, and the Falling Thereof

Remission 1.1

It is the irreconcilable nature of humankind, I feel, to seek more than what we are deserving of.

"Forty-three fifty six."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Forty-four fifty six."

Taxi drivers are, on the whole, particularly culpable of this sin.

"Are you fucking kidding me? That was a 19 minute drive, at most."

The cab in question smelled of sweat, and a sickly sweet air freshener; a harsh, chemical scent that sent my head spinning when I tried to breathe deeply. A wave of nausea washed over me.

"Yeah, at 12 am on a Tuesday." The driver was an older man. He was balding, with yellowed teeth and fingernails, a scowl seemingly permanently etched onto his thin lips. He was scratching at the stubble on his chin. I tried not to retch as he exhaled, and the smell of tobacco washed over me.

"You're a taxi driver," I growled. "Isn't driving people around your job, regardless of time of day?"

"Just 'cause it's my job, doesn't mean I like doing it. Cost of late night labour is accounted for in the fare, not just the literal cost of the journey, little miss."

I held up my stump, which was tucked within the tied-up sleeve of my jacket. "Are you sure? You really wanna charge me that high?"

"Yeah," He snorted, not breaking eye contact. "I'd charge you the same, cripple or not. Look, it's too late for this shit. Pay the fare, or I'll call the company, and you can talk it out with them."

Despite my swelling urge to punch the man, I held back the guttural snarl and string of expletives perched on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I reached into my back pocket to pluck out my wallet. There was no point to starting a fight with him, not this late at night. I was just too tired. With thumb and pinkie I held the black leather open, and plucked out a fifty dollar bill with my index and middle finger. I threw the folded-up bill at the driver, and tucked my wallet away.

"Keep the change," I mumbled, tugging on my suitcase's telescoping grip in an attempt to find something I could comfortably hold on to while I stepped out of the car.

The cab wheeled off. I sighed.

I'd had the man drop me off at a strip mall, some thirty minutes by foot from my real destination. At the time, my thoughts were exclusively rooted in the realm of enjoying a nice jaunt through the town. Now, I was just wondering if my wallet would have survived the rest of the trip, considering his avaricious fares.

There was a sort of gloomy ambience to the parking lot, even disregarding the hour of the night. All the storefronts I could see were old, few particularly well cared for. Peeling paint, trash bags piled up beside the entrance, glass windows replaced by close-set metal bars. More than a quarter of the buildings I could see seemed as though they were totally uninhabited - boarded up or otherwise clearly not currently in use.

Harlington, the Happiest Town in the Whole Wide World, had read the sign at the train station.

I glanced around the parking lot for a moment, taking in the skeezy Missouri air. It burned in my nostrils, smelling of gasoline and tar.

The weather was warm here, and humid. After just a few minutes outside, I found my undershirt sticking to my back, my leather jacket feeling suddenly quite unseasonable. I felt myself hit by a sudden, unexpected feeling of homesickness, where temperatures rarely got above 20, even in the midst of summer. I quashed the feeling quickly.

I rolled back my shoulders, adjusting the position of the overly large leather jacket, and turned my eyes towards the light of a Croc's on the other side of the strip mall. I lamented, only momentarily, that it was not a Dark Croc's, the more moody, ominous version of the fast food chain. Like a siren's song, however, the fluorescents flickered in the dark of midnight, a beacon of familiarity and cheap food, calling to me. I obeyed the whims of my growling stomach, and began to head towards it. It'd been nearly a full day since I'd eaten anything, and even then, my last meal had been a miniature bag of chips and half an iced coffee I had stolen from a tourist.