Near a bus station on an unseasonably warm day. A chill is lingering under the bashful sunlight and it works on me and chills me and I try to catch cold. Taking out a joint. Sitting in an alley behind the bus station I draw the smoke deep in my lungs and hold it. I sit by a dumpster and a chilly wind blows. A rack of clouds trowels across the east. Yellow leaves fall, shuttling and winking. Golden leaves that rush like poured coins into the dying grass.
I swear I think I see a tree get up and walk across the street. More of them move. I sit here for what seems like two hours but my watch says ten minutes. The shadows of somber twilight advance across the lot toward me, the color of doomsday blue.
A gray car comes down the little gravel lane by the bus station and pulls into the lot in front of me. A paunchy man in tan gabardine and Ray Bans and a badge gets out. I am still tripping on weed. The constable’s eyes are mounted on stalks like some scifi writer’s nightmare alien. I look down and see that he has cloven hoofs instead of feet. And a pointed tail. When I look back up at him I see he has grown horns like a steer’s and has the countenance of a minotaur. His horns are dripping in bright red blood and his face is covered with carrion from some obscene pagan feast. I shake my head to clear it.
Get in the car, the constable minotaur moos and choffs.