21:44
Faizan
Part I
Chapter One (the wife)
Evening was coming on in the city of Lima, noisy as always at this hour. All the sounds of Lima echoing through the air, with the end of daylight. Nippon walked down the steep widen street in San Juan Miraflores, flanked by little shops and eateries, and tall concrete walls, alone. Talking to himself incisively -as often he did. He had left his wife and two young boys to go shopping, she took the small Chevy truck they owned, as he took his late afternoon walk around the neighborhood, and around Cherry Park, where his house paralleled the park that paralleled the Church. It was close to the time he figured she'd be back and so he was on his way back to the house.
However disagreeable Nippon was, in some ways he had his bright side. Nippon lived cautiously and there might be something in that.
He noticed the many people on the boulevards, coming and going, passing him-not one smile on anyone's face.
"Have they all lost hope," he murmured to himself. A statement, more than a question.
Walking on he came to a corner coated with grime and dirt, dust flying about, garbage piled high across the street. He looked behind him, there stood the large statue of the Virgin Mary, the mayor had refurbished, when they widened the road. Nippon stomped his feet to get the dust off his sandals. He pushed his straw hat back, looking to see if any cars were coming. His wife always reminding him to look before he leaped, he was to a certain degree careless.
- Nippon heard a crash. He tugged at his collar on his shirt, a policeman ran by "Excuse me," he blasted out, as if in high gear, wanting Nippon to get out of his way, further down the sidewalk, the policeman again reeked his voice at another pedestrian to get out of his way. Now Nippon could hear sirens, an ambulance was approaching. He looked down the street, he had appeared to have come out of a dream. "Oh!" he exclaimed. The automobile that was crashed into, was not a car, but his wife's Chevy Truck, so it appeared, could it really be he pondered. But there was much more in the scene than that, - the other car, a man staggered out of the other car, the car that hit the truck, drunker than a skunk. Nippon told himself, "It doesn't do to rush to conclusions," and approached the two vehicles, noticing the police officer that had just past him with the thick mustache, like John L. Sullivan, was pacing the accident sight, keeping bystanders at a distance, as the medics took charge; the officer passed Nippon with annoyance.
He surveyed the scene, reassured himself: it was his wife's truck, he approached the officer even closer, amenable. Now he was sure it was his truck. The police officer looked at him, he looked perplexed, and then after a short silence, the officer asked, "Yes, can I help you?"
"I rather think so," replied Nippon, then paused.
Chapter One (the wife)
Evening was coming on in the city of Lima, noisy as always at this hour. All the sounds of Lima echoing through the air, with the end of daylight. Nippon walked down the steep widen street in San Juan Miraflores, flanked by little shops and eateries, and tall concrete walls, alone. Talking to himself incisively -as often he did. He had left his wife and two young boys to go shopping, she took the small Chevy truck they owned, as he took his late afternoon walk around the neighborhood, and around Cherry Park, where his house paralleled the park that paralleled the Church. It was close to the time he figured she'd be back and so he was on his way back to the house.
However disagreeable Nippon was, in some ways he had his bright side. Nippon lived cautiously and there might be something in that.
He noticed the many people on the boulevards, coming and going, passing him-not one smile on anyone's face.
"Have they all lost hope," he murmured to himself. A statement, more than a question.
Walking on he came to a corner coated with grime and dirt, dust flying about, garbage piled high across the street. He looked behind him, there stood the large statue of the Virgin Mary, the mayor had refurbished, when they widened the road. Nippon stomped his feet to get the dust off his sandals. He pushed his straw hat back, looking to see if any cars were coming. His wife always reminding him to look before he leaped, he was to a certain degree careless.
- Nippon heard a crash. He tugged at his collar on his shirt, a policeman ran by "Excuse me," he blasted out, as if in high gear, wanting Nippon to get out of his way, further down the sidewalk, the policeman again reeked his voice at another pedestrian to get out of his way. Now Nippon could hear sirens, an ambulance was approaching. He looked down the street, he had appeared to have come out of a dream. "Oh!" he exclaimed. The automobile that was crashed into, was not a car, but his wife's Chevy Truck, so it appeared, could it really be he pondered. But there was much more in the scene than that, - the other car, a man staggered out of the other car, the car that hit the truck, drunker than a skunk. Nippon told himself, "It doesn't do to rush to conclusions," and approached the two vehicles, noticing the police officer that had just past him with the thick mustache, like John L. Sullivan, was pacing the accident sight, keeping bystanders at a distance, as the medics took charge; the officer passed Nippon with annoyance.
He surveyed the scene, reassured himself: it was his wife's truck, he approached the officer even closer, amenable. Now he was sure it was his truck. The police officer looked at him, he looked perplexed, and then after a short silence, the officer asked, "Yes, can I help you?"
"I rather think so," replied Nippon, then paused.
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