Uit: Unplugging Philco
“As furtively as possible he checked the three of them again. Still chatting. If they began moving his way he’ d need a new plan, and quick. If only there was another pedestrian to draw their attention away from him — but there never was. Nobody else was out at this hour. It would be simple enough to change his own schedule, he sometimes thought, but he knew it would never happen.
He flexed his legs and his toes, checked the sidewalk directly below him again, then took a deep breath and willed himself into action.
As he scrambled down the stairs like a convulsive heron, Wally told himself for the thirtieth time in as many days that it was about time he picked himself up a new pair of shoes. This old pair he was wearing was simply not made for scrambling of any kind. Not with soles worn that smooth and thin.
Without pausing at the bottom to see if they’d caught sight of him, he dashed across the sidewalk, staying as low as he could manage, and ducked between two parked cars. He was breathing heavy and sweating despite the cool breeze, but at least he had some decent cover here.
Holding on to the rear bumper of a cherry red Chrysler Xanax for support, he pushed himself up just enough to peer over the trunk and down the street.
They still hadn’t seen him, too engrossed as they were in their little chat.
Probably exchanging diapering tips and murder stories, he thought. He checked the street again.
There was someone at the stoplight two blocks away. He was driving one of those Dodge Dipsomatic GX Mini Forts, an enormous vehicle, almost a full lane and a half wide. It was little more than a street-modified tank, really, but they’d become quite popular lately.”
Jim Knipfel (Green Bay, 2 juni 1965)