Cicero had leapt out the passenger side. The cars honked behind him. Nobody saw what I saw. I froze. He grabbed by throat. The talk radio ridculous mumbled along in the car,
The electricity left my ears and face up his in pixelated colour.
Cicero’s face turned on and off with thousand visages through the now searing rain. I knew them all. The cars passed. The angry rubber necked shadows peered and roared in a vertical zebra crossing of rain. I could feel their venom on my back. I could feel Cicero’s vemon on my face. My memory loaded.
On Cicero’s face rested the image of Sean. A face I did not expect to see again so often. A face to which I didn’t want to talk. The rack stretched to breaking point. My head screamed for the deaf.
“Cicero spoke in my brother voice. This guy. Look at my face Gus. Et est homo mortuus . Ne plus reddat ardens libros ad memoriam reducantur. I need to stuff his head down the mortality drain”
“He is nothing to do with me” I shouted at the rain. This was the third time I denied him my family.
I got back in the car and locked the door and drove through a yield sign to the next set of lights, nearly missing a SUV. I turned off the radio for peace. Where could I go?
“You are lucky we are not bringing you to court over these books!”
Continue? Give me a number between I and X?