Saturday's Storyteller: Terminus
Terminus by Belinda Roddie The rain has stopped. Rarely does it ever come to visit, and this time, it wasn't so brief a stay. To the east, the port rumbles with newfound waves. Salt stings the eyes of sailors who dream of going back to sea again. Meanwhile, a Lotus appears to be lost in American territory, jostling its way down battered asphalt and clumsy humps of gravel and stone. Its destination: The market, for fish and bait. You stop for a refill at a gas station, watch the British automobile circle around you before leaving for any sad semblance of town. But for you, you're used to it. It's here. You're home. You make your way to the game shop between Fifth and Seventh street; there is no sixth street, due to good old-fashioned superstition. The space smells like pizza and beer and stale body odor. The corner table is always set up for you. You palm the gun metal twenty-sided dice in your left hand. Your friend, nameless when it comes to a good match, shuffles