I turned immediately to run, but paused. How far had I come since the diner? Two blocks? Four blocks? Miles? I wasn’t even sure where in the city I was any more, not that this was a new feeling for me, modern nomad that I am. But this was not the time for quiet contemplation; this was the time for running!
“Wallie,” came a faint and plaintive voice behind me, Vanessa’s voice. I wanted to look; I didn’t want to look.
“Help,” came another voice, a touch of a drawl, the waitress who brought my coffee. I wanted to run. I wanted to know.
“What the…” said a manly voice, though he followed up with a string of expletives trailing into the night. My head spun. I had to leave; I had to turn and face whatever this was. But I wanted to live too! And all at the same time I wanted to cease to exist.
I opened my mouth to call out, “I’m sorry,” but I choked on the words and only managed a feeble croak. This was decision time. Everything else could be chalked up to panic. Now was the true moment of decision.