4/11/12
Looking out from the polycarbonate bubble as it floated among the skyscrapers, he reflected on how he got here.  Divorce.  The death of his son.  The loss of his job.  The prospect of a one-time influx of cash that would allow him to live in peace, and an offer to cut him in on the action.  Just a few days ago he was gliding in a different vehicle through a different landscape: a twin engine prop plane and the Everglades.  “Well, there isn’t much to say now.  What’s done is done.  I’d undo it if I could, but it’s over now.  I don’t suppose I’ll get back to the Everglades for a few years.”  His stomach lurched as the chopper dropped down, preparing for its landing on the roof of the justice building.  His steward was wearing a Kevlar vest.  Now he wished he had been handed one of those a few months ago when he left the donut shop on the morning of the robbery.  He looked away from the window and down at his handcuffs.  “Fucking Kevlar.”