The morning paper tells the world what happened overnight.
But they are words hurriedly put on a page. Words that sell papers. The truth is not what is wanted. “Never in Arlington,” they say, “not there”.
But indeed, yes, in Arlington. Nowhere is immune to the inhumaneness of humans.
The papers don’t know the full story. They don’t want to know. I wrap the pistol in the paper, and toss it in the trash. I pull my coat tighter, so the blood-stained shirt I wear is not visible and board the 902 to Boston.
(Reading a newspaper on the morning train has become a thing of the past. Now people look at the tiny screens of their phones, laptops, kindles and tablets. Its a dilemma. How does a murderer dispose of a gun these days?)
Word Count 94