Billy Straight

32

“Rapist! Police!”

Why are they screaming that? I throw on my clothes. The screams get far away, I crack open the door, look out, see nothing, and run out the back.

It sounds like they're out in front, still screaming “Rapist!” which is crazy. I'd never rape anyone; I know what it feels like to be hunted.

I run behind the garage, climb over the wooden fence into the next yard. Lights on in that house- colors, a TV behind the curtains; I hear someone laughing.

I run through the yard to the next street, then back up to Hollywood Boulevard, where I turn down another street, then up again, moving back and forth so no one will see me, walking, not running, blend in, blend in… no sirens. The cops haven't come yet.

If those women keep lying about rape, they might send up helicopters with those big white beams. That could turn me into a bug on paper… then I realize they never saw me; why should anyone think I'm the one?

I slow down even more, pretend everything's great. I'm on another quiet street. People locked inside thinking they're safe.

Or maybe worried they're not.

I'll keep going west, away from the park and Hollywood. Stupid women with plants all over the place who leave food to rot.

The next busy street is Sunset. Weirdos, lots more kids than Hollywood, even more cars. Lots of restaurants, clubs. Across the street a place called Body Body Body! with a plastic sign of a naked lady. Then something called the Snake. Club with a big line out in front and two big fat guys not letting anyone in.

Is that guy in that red car looking at me weird?

I turn off to the next quiet street, back and forth again. Now my feet are hurting; I've been walking all day. West, maybe the beach. The beach is clean, isn't it?

I have no money. No way to protect myself.

Should have taken the pineapple knife.