“Thanks,” he croaks. His unnatural gyrations are freaking me out. I ease the car into traffic.
He babbles about hiding from the police.
I’m brimming with a host of different emotions. His right elbow bangs sharply against the passenger window.
“Stop thrashing around.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
But he can’t stop, limbs flailing with the frantic limpness of an exhausted swimmer. And he’s oblivious to it all until he knocks the car out of gear, and I bark at him. He apologizes and stops, but only for a moment because the meth addict’s version of St. Vitus’ Dance won’t let him.
Originally appeared on www.thedrabble.wordpress.com
Tales from the Land Manatee 
If I hadn’t read this whole story on another occasion, I’d be really wanting to hear more of it after these 100 words. Matter of fact, I want to read it again.
LikeLike
I’m actually rewriting it more of a blog style. I’m kind of disatisfied with the original and think it’s overwritten, so I’m seeing how this works. I’ll probably post it on my site.
LikeLike