The unemployed man was thinking about the stray rocket smashing into his window and blowing up his apartment 5 minutes before it happened.
He paused. Was it a premonition? He continued to flip through the magazine. A premonition is almost always bullshit.
On a pretense to extricate himself (just in case), he told himself he suddenly wanted ice cream from the local convenience store.
He scrounged for change. He brushed the dust off his favorite shoes and decided to use them instead of the everyday pair. He pocketed a photographic memento, and he put on the necktie he used only on special occasions. He almost forgot his book of telephone numbers. And he was out the door.
The rocket hits the room. The apartment building folds in. The house party at the top floor comes crashing down—floor after floor. Lobby. Those still standing and breathing exit dancing and screaming.
Rey Armenteros is a Los Angeles-based painter and writer who has had his essays and poetry appear in numerous literary journals and art magazines, including The Nasiona, Lunch Ticket, Umbrella Factory Magazine, and Still Point Arts Quarterly.