A crew was painting the hallway this morning. Once they reached the door of my apartment I had to keep it ajar so the surfaces wouldn't stick together. I was a little self conscious when it was time to play the guitar. I refrained from singing. I didn't want to torture real working men.
The floating book shop had only one customer today. Fortunately, it was Mrs. Eclectic, who bought six books. Thank you, madam, and also to old Simon, who left another two books for me at Ali Baba's gyro truck. Here's an excerpt from my latest novel, Exchanges, so far available only on Kindle. It's two paragraphs, and shows how much the world has changed since that particularly day in January 1988.
He contemplated making the short walk to the World Trade Center, saving a token, but a gust of wind had him scurrying to the subway, where he boarded an uptown train. The ride was only two stops. As he was poised to get off, his eyes alit upon an advertisement upon which Daisnaid had been written. He frowned and mumbled audibly in frustration, drawing the glances of other commuters. He felt like an ass.
Further down the car, at the next set of doors, he spotted Ronnie, one of his crew, who seemed in a trance, cigarette dangling from his lips. He lost sight of him in the crowd that left the train at Cortlandt Street.
The walk from the subway to work was all indoors, out of the cold. He flashed his ID as he approached the security area. He was irked at having to do so. He’d been an employee of the National Metals Exchange 15 years, was known practically to everyone in the markets and security staff, and yet each time he passed through the entrance he was treated as if he were entering for the first time. Only a handful of people, certain powerful brokers, were exempt from the procedure. What made the matter even more frustrating was that security was minimal, capable of stopping only the amateurish intruder. The guards, most of who were enlisted through a service, were unarmed. Some carried walkie-talkies, some metal detectors. If they expected to deter terrorists, it was laughable. Even the most unskilled fiend would be able to inflict severe damage in moments and probably escape easily. Charley was not sure why terrorists would target such a place, despite the wealth it represented. Then again, he hadn't understood any of the acts they perpetrated, so a strike did not seem out of the question. It seemed only a matter of time before the vermin demonstrated their brazenness in America.
Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
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