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What Goes Around . . .Well, you know the rest.
by Mathew Carter
Sitting in his Chevy with the windows rolled down, Mike caught a cool breeze with his face and savored the short amount of time before he had to return to work. Carefully taking a small sip of hot coffee, he leaned back and watched as a discolored pigeon circled the store. To be free as a bird and fly high above the monotony of life, Mike mused as he rested his tired eyes.
After doing a lap around the building, the pigeon landed swiftly upon a ledge. Looking down at another pigeon being thrown a piece of bread, he waited for the perfect opportunity. He was hungry, very hungry. His chance having arrived, the pigeon swooped down for the attack; his beady black eyes locked on the target. With a piranha-like viciousness, he snatched the bread from his enemy's beak. When the flurry of feathers had settled, the attacking pigeon raced into the cloudless sky to devour the spoils. Satisfied with the victory, yet still hungry, the pigeon greedily consumed the morsel of bread.
Within the convenience store, Jack totaled the items in his hands. He wouldn't have enough money to purchase everything. Why does this stuff have to be so expensive? I mean, how much does it really cost to make these things? Sighing, Jack looked from the soda to the candy bar and couldn't decide which to relinquish. The melodic beeping of the cash register and the burping of fresh coffee coming into existence was the accompaniment to the dilemma. Eyeing the busy store clerk, Jack subtly slipped the candy bar into his pocket and took position in line. Humming a tune, he watched as a hotdog vendor set up his business across the street.
Sam methodically arranged his work station. Opening the umbrella to block the oncoming sun, he began strategically placing the mustard, ketchup, and relish within easy reach of the customers who would soon be lining up to purchase lunch. Cars raced by, spilling poison from their exhausts. Horns and sirens wailed in the distance. Surrounded by a forest of concrete, this was Sam's small contribution to business within the city. Opening the storage compartments, Sam grabbed buns and hotdogs. Placing the items on the stand, he noticed the dates on the hotdog packages. They were expired. How could I have been so negligent? Dismissing the idea to discard the bad hotdogs, Sam opened the packages and placed the dogs into the broiler. Heat kills everything, right?
As a homeless man watched a pigeon being fed across the street, he wondered how a useless animal could be shown more compassion than a starving human being. Disgusted at the sight, he turned his gaze upon a hotdog vendor setting up for the day. His stomach rumbled, echoing his obvious need for nourishment. He was starving. Being hypnotized by the smell of boiling hotdogs, the homeless man waited for the opportunity to steal one. Scanning the surrounding area, he quickly planned the escape route.
Break time being over, Mike reluctantly started the car. Taking one last sip of his coffee, he placed the Styrofoam cup in a cup holder and began backing out the parking space. With his mind elsewhere, Mike cut the wheel too sharply and scraped the car parked next to his. The sound of metal against metal shot shivers down his spine, like the sound of nails against a chalkboard. Cursing under his breath, Mike pulled away from the scene, trying to avoid any incident that would cause him to be late for work.
Sam dressed a hotdog with "the works" and proudly handed it over to his first customer. Before the customer had a chance to enjoy his lunch, a homeless man snatched the hotdog from his hands. The vendor quickly gave chase.
The homeless man, having obtained what he desired, looked over his shoulder to see if he were being pursued. Noticing the vendor giving chase, he turned, and to his dismay, collided with a light pole.
Watching the pursuit from above, the pigeon noticed a hotdog roll into the street. Before any other pigeon had the opportunity to steal his prize, he swooped down and began devouring the gift given to him by Chance.
Almost home free, Jack mused as he took a step closer to the register. Glancing out the store window, he watched as some idiot scratched the hell out of his car. Dropping his goods, Jack sprinted after the vehicle.
Mike, looking through his rearview mirror, noticed the owner of the damaged vehicle storm angrily out the store. Hitting the gas, Mike gunned the Chevy onto the road. To avoid a city bus headed right for him, he was forced to jump across the median. Out of control, Mike slammed into a hotdog stand.
Luke, after having his hotdog stolen by some lunatic and just avoiding being pulverized by a maniac driving an old, beat up Chevy, found himself standing alone in the midst of chaos. Looking at the vendor's money scattered across the sidewalk, Luke snatched a few bills from the ground and placed them into his pocket. With sirens blaring in the distance, Luke casually sauntered away.
Not long after eating the hotdog, the pigeon's stomach twisted in knots. Like teeth chewing on his guts, the pain was unbearable. He had to relieve himself. In a powerful moment of evacuation, the pigeon let loose. . .
Having fled safely from the scene, Luke took the bills from his pocket and began to count the booty. Looking up to give thanks to the heavens, his eyes met with the feces of a passing pigeon.
* * *Sitting next to a gentleman in an airport, Sara perused the latest fashion catalog. With the prices exorbitant, Sara dreamed of one day having enough money to purchase a sizable wardrobe. The gentleman next to her stood and walked toward a coffee shop, leaving his wallet behind. Picking up the wallet and curiously searching the contents, Sara noticed the stack of hundreds in his billfold. Glancing at the driver's license, Sara mumbled, "Well, Luke, look's like you're about to have a bad day." Looking around to make certain nobody was watching, Sara placed the hundreds into her purse and nonchalantly walked away . . . .
About The Author
Mathew Carter
Being raised in a military family I had the opportunity to live in Norway, England, Portugal, Bermuda, and Japan. Though an American citizen, I have lived only half my life in the States. While in the States, I have chosen to live a simple life—a traveling life. I have hitchhiked across over thirty States, in fact, I met my wife while hitchhiking across Georgia but that is another story. Writing my first story (a murder mystery) when I was eight years old, I found an early passion for writing. My life truly has been an adventure—a journey, I believe, that will never end.