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by Erin Lyndal Martin

The bodyguard told me about accompanying dignitaries on long plane rides, how his job gave him amphetamines to keep him awake. He said he’d have to wash me off his hands after fingering me or the canines would react.

He gave me a ride to the bank on his way to work. As I got in his car, he told me I would see a gun for a moment, and then it would be gone.

Author's Note

I often find myself consumed with the way banal situations can become dangerous or, in this case, the opposite.

Erin Lyndal Martin is a creative writer, music journalist, and visual artist based in Blacksburg, VA. Her fiction has recently appeared in Hobart and monkeybicycle. She has web presence at and on Twitter @erinlyndal.

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