An old man walked into
Safeway the other day
He wore peculiar clothes, old style, and carried
a cane
His white goatee and steel blue eyes caused even
the teenagers to notice
He could have been ninety, but his countenance
was timeless
This man was sharp, fiercely independent, a
force to be reckoned with
Sometimes elderly people smell, dress in dumpy
ways, and look tired
Not Mr. Glass
His cane struck the linoleum floor like it
wasn’t even there
STRIKE
He made his way to the cashier
In his possession was a fine cigar, pipe
tobacco, and crackers
Mr. Glass paid with exact change, then walked
out
Some teenagers followed him
Mr. Glass exposed his bankroll when he paid
The man believed in using cash and nothing
else
It was dark in the parking lot, probably two AM
“Hey old man, you got a light?”
Mr. Glass stopped in his tracks
He reached into his suite pocket, procuring a
silver lighter
He flicked the flint, igniting a flame
If the teenagers had watched closely, they would
have seen a flicker of mischief in his features
The biggest leader walked toward him with his
cigarette outstretched
“Thanks Mister, Now I will take your
wallet.”
Glass did not look surprised or shaken
They closed in on him like wolves
Hungry
Glass did not reach for his wallet
And his long overcoat flapped in the breeze
His left arm slowly reached for his silver cane
held in his right hand
The ornamental wolf’s head gleamed in the
moonlight
The old man reached under the wolf’s chin and
gently pulled
There was a gentle clicking sound
It wasn’t loud, but it caused Glass’ adversaries
to stand still
“What’s up with your cane, man?”
“It’s been a long time since the wolf has
tasted blood,” Glass whispered.
The hoodlum pulled out a switchblade. He’d
already decided to cut Glass’ throat.
The wolf’s neck was getting longer
“He has a sword,” one of the teenagers
yelled.
The leader slashed at Mr. Glass’ chest
Reacting, Glass parried, bring his antique
weapon down on the hoodlum’s hand
Blood spurted across the pavement and the pound
of flesh lay motionless on the street
“My hand! The Bastard sliced off my fucking
hand! Get him!”
But the band of brotherhood was running in every
direction
Mr. Glass floated toward his adversaries like a
phantom of the night.
A silver band of lightning flashed in the
reflection of the moon
Intermittently painted in crimson and echoing
the screams of youth
They were all dead
Glass surveyed the bodies and lit his cigar
He wiped his bloodied blade on the nearest
victim
Sliding it gently into its wooden resting place
CLICK
Mr. Glass walked into the night
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