Whistler

I remove my backpack from the locker, and place it on a pallet. I take my utility knife out of my pocket. I place it down beside my backpack. I unzip the front pocket of my backpack, and remove my bus pass. I take the knife and tuck it inside.

"Hi Mike," says a woman with a Scottish accent, "gosh love, I haven't seen you in so long."

I look up. An older woman with short gray hair walks down on of the warehouse aisles.

"Hello Thelma," says a man in jeans and a workshirt walking toward her.

"How you been?"

Mike strokes his face.

"I'm getting old," he replies.

"Oh no," says Thelma.

"Yep. Getting old, and getting tired."

"Ah, but we all are Mike."

Mike puts his hand on his hip. Attached to his belt is a walkie-talkie. A voice speaks through it. He turns down the volume.

"You know what," says Mike, "to hell with it. Let's get out of here."

"Get out of here?" says Thelma, "where are we going?"

"Whistler. Let's get out here, and head for the Chateau Whistler! Let's forget it all and see where life takes us."

Thelma laughs, obviously charmed. A forklift drives by. The noise of trucks being unloaded echoes throughout the warehouse.

"Okay Mike," she replies, "let's go, let's get out of here."

"I've got my truck out back. We'll go right now."

"Okay, but can we bring A.? She's real fun. A nice girl too!"

"Yeah, bring her too."

"Sounds delightful!"

They walk to the shipping doors. The noise of the warehouse drowns out their voices. They step outside together. I lose sight of them after they leave the building. I pull my back pack over my shoulders. I step between the pallets, and begin walking toward the doors. Some one shouts my name as I walk down the aisle. It's Kevin S. He shouts some more words. I don't hear him, but I wave in reply, and then leave the building.