What if his taxi had arrived after instead of before me? If we hadn’t met on the steps? I wonder at possibilities and am no further ahead. Did he hate me that much for wrecking his business?
All the imponderables leave me exactly where I am: shot, in a coffin.
Joanna M. Weston has had poetry, reviews, and short stories published in anthologies and journals for twenty-five years. Her poetry, “A Summer Father”, was published by Frontenac House of Calgary. You can see more of her writing at www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com.