His is the only white face left on the subway. His knees bounce. He’s alert. Amped. He stands out, his very presence challenged by double-takes, side-eyes, and stares. He hates this reversal. He knows they’re all waiting for the scales to tip. It puts him on edge. It’s why he got the permit.
He has the edge now. He spreads himself out in his seat, reclaiming space. The inside-waistband holster presses into his gut, damp where it touches skin. It fortifies him. He meets every hard, cold stare with one of his own. He feels so ready his hands shake.
He has the edge now. He spreads himself out in his seat, reclaiming space. The inside-waistband holster presses into his gut, damp where it touches skin. It fortifies him. He meets every hard, cold stare with one of his own. He feels so ready his hands shake.
