ATM

He walks away from the Instabank and the list falls out of his pocket. Snoopy me, I pick it up,

before inserting my bank card in the machine. It’s terrifying. I’m not sure who to contact. Will the police do. Should I call my solicitor first. Maybe pick up the baby from daycare, drive to the country, make our escape before all hell breaks loose. I turn around to the fellow behind me, pass him the list without a word, maybe he’ll know what to do. This is not something I want to handle alone, a burden I don’t want to carry, or take to my grave… The fellow shudders, his face blanches, parboiled-white, his lips quivering… It’s almost noon, people will be pouring out of their offices in droves, no time to waste. We clutch one another and look for someone who can help. Not a word uttered, not a one.