Stabby McChefknife

My mom and I are peering into a dark and unoccupied storefront in downtown Saltillo. We're trying to figure out what the apartment above the old video store/doctor's office looks like. I had heard stories about the place from my friend Wendy when she lived there, and Phil has even been up there a couple of times, I think. But I'd never actually ventured past the wrought-iron door, up the stairs, and into the old place. Just imagine what it must be like to live right on Saltillo's hoppin' Main Street. At least you'd get a good view of the parade during River Day.

My perspective is skewed. Somehow I am simultaneously looking into the apartment from the street and down and into the old storefront. It's almost like I've climbed on the awning and am peering down through a transparent wall and floor. Soon I'm back on the ground, and my mom and I go inside. It's hard to tell if we've gone inside the apartment or the old storefront.

There is a light on — a stark fluorescent one, which means we're probably in the storefront — and tacky, dull, coral-colored carpet on the floor. There is wood paneling covering everything. We see no furniture or signs that this place is even close to being inhabited.

And yet, this tall, stocky, white guy comes out of the shadows. He doesn't seem menacing, so we greet him. You know, sort of a Hi, how's it going? Sorry, didn't know anyone was in here. But the man says nothing and grabs a knife from the counter. A big one, a chef's knife. We realize that some bad shit's about to go down, so as the man is slowly making his way toward us, I reach past him to grab another knife from the pile — which wasn't there earlier — and manage to grab two — another large chef's knife and a butcher knife — and hand one to my mom. We begin to retreat, but he's right there on us and he starts stabbing me in the gut.

I get the feeling that he's got me a couple of times, but I feel no pain or weakness. I want very badly to stab him back, but I'm afraid of hurting him in such a purposely violent way. So I wave the knife in his face and — this gets kinda blurry — I think we run off through the streets of Saltillo and lose him.

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