The young ones hang out on Greene St. It’s always been that way. A handful here. A handful there. Groups mix and merge only to separate and regroup.
“We wait for Marty.” Sal dryly says.
Quiet descends on the group. They fidget a bit. Eyes look side to side. Nervous twitches. Anxious moments rise.
“He… he must be late….or something.” Timothy breaks the brief pause.
Streets are alive as a truck chugs past. Leaving a cloud of grey black smoke. A car approaches slowly. A group turns to behold the car.
“OK, boys let’s go! Forget Marty!” Sal screams and flaps his wings.
A swarm of birds leave the wire.
Below the black car is no longer clean.
Written as part of a challenge called Friday fictioneers, https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/05/04/6-may-2016/