The car inched forward as rush hour traffic crawled across the junction. A faint rhythm sailed over from the barbershop and Damien picked it up, tapping on the door while he surveyed the street.
“So what about Keisha, man? What’s going on?” asked Jerome.
Damien leaned back in the seat and put on a grin. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? What do you mean? I seen you.”
“It’s nothing, trust me.”
“Look at you. You’re a player, man!”
Damien watched an old lady pick through the veg outside the mini-mart while he tried to find the words. But now Jerome was turning on the stereo. Bass shook the car and the line that Damien had been telling himself, reverberated around his head.
It was just a test. Tests can be wrong.
As seen in issue #156 of Adhoc Fiction.
Alex J Rankin 