The tipsy antique dealer wrote a story in the gas station for the lawyer. It sounded like a bad sentence dictated to a seven year old for a Friday spelling test, but the reality of his situation was far from innocent. He knelt in his Armani knockoffs, grease staining his knees, as a goon of a man shoved…

Curling toes in my oversized shoes,

Flexing ankles, and my right heel buzzes

With the needles of a thousand thoughtless syllables.

My knees twist away with the spiraling of disdain,