13 September, 2009

An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

The size of the city means how refreshing the evening is can go either way. Tonight you should have water available, air providing none of the coolness.

What is refreshing, and I’m not the only one who thinks so, is the family singing hymns. I watch them longer than anyone else, most people trying hard to not stop moving near them. Even I’m thinking of excuses why I can’t stay with them for dinner. Something in their house, maybe one of the kids, would bite me.

Mostly I’m watching the mother. She’s a mother who’d take care of you. But the father doesn’t look above kidnap.

The eldest two kids are definite kidnap victims. It’s too late for the girl; she’s playing the organ for fuck’s sake, but I could save the boy, raise him like a brother, exist almost in secret, taking it easy. He would love that, I can tell by the way he doesn't look at me or his parents.

But, because I think serial killers probably also think like this, I walk away.

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