The man breathed in the words in one gulp, "Fuck it."
It was the last one. It was the last time he had to scan the courthouse parking lot for that big black truck. He willed his legs mechanically forward. He told himself it was the last time he had to calm the gorilla that had replaced his heart, furiously pounding inside his chest.
He had spent three hours in the bathroom the night before. He had not eaten in two days, but he might have vomited otherwise. Instead, he searched his face for himself. He didn't find him.
The decade-long legal battle had hardened his complexion into stone, circling his eyes with dark craters and diving his lips with canyons of dried cracks. He was ghoulish. This is what it meant to have died except for the motions of living. This was what it meant to have a litigious face.
He greeted his client, who stood next to an empty bench in the courthouse hallway.
"Good afternoon," said the client.
"Good afternoon," said the lawyer defending him.
"Did you see if I left my car windows open? The black truck."
"I know. No, they were closed."
"Good. Let's make sure this case is, too. Ready?"
"I'll meet you back here in a moment. I'm going to use the restroom."
"Hurry. We're on soon."
The lawyer found new energy as rounded the hallway corner towards the restroom. As he approached the icon for the men's room, he did not slow down passing it.
He smiled as he pictured leaving that big black truck in a cloud of exhaust, seeping into its half-open windows.
That's two for today, playing catch up. Thanks for reading!
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