“Here he comes, Ida,” said Hazel, as she expertly cast-on her ball of yarn.

Ida looked up from her own knitting and squinted through her glasses down the length of the long sidewalk bordering the park. In the distance she could make out a figure riding a hoverboard, weaving in and out through the crowd of passersby, occasionally startling some of them.

“He’s moving fast,” said Hazel quietly, turning to face her dear old friend who was seated beside her on the park bench. “Faster than he should, if he cared a stich about other people.”

Ida giggled at her friend’s play on words, “Oh Hazel, you scamp!”

“He’s a menace to others,” said Hazel with a scowl. She put down her knitting; “He was certainly a menace to you. It took you weeks to recover from that fall.”

Ida nodded gravely, “And he hasn’t shown the least bit of remorse. He just keeps on racing past us without so much as a nod or, God forbid, an apology.”

Hazel took a deep breath, settling herself; “He’s certainly an arrogant young man.”

The figure drew closer, hurtling intentionally close to dogs, causing them to bark, and between parents and toddlers. Someone yelled, “Hey, be careful, asshole!” The figure, now discernibly a twenty-something with long hair, piercings and tattoos, stuck out a middle finger and doubled down on his pace, as he headed straight towards Ida and Hazel’s bench.

“Do you think he’ll realize who it was?” asked Ida, adjusting her spectacles and knitting her mohair in a blur of motion to form a cabled pattern of cloth.

“He won’t have time,” answered Hazel. She touched the paper bag that sat between them.

“Patience, Dear,” whispered Ida conspiratorially; “Just another minute or so.”

“It’s been a long time coming, Sweetie,” said Hazel. The two friends looked at each other, stone-faced, but soon surrendered their composure and broke into smiles, unable to help themselves. Hazel cackled in anticipation. Ida put a hand onto her chest, “I’m so nervous!”

The hover boarder was seconds away. Ida and Hazel could hear the muffled pounding of his far-too-loud music leaking out from his expensive Bluetooth headphones.

“Are you ready?” asked Ida.

“As ready as instant soup, Dear,” answered Hazel, reaching into the paper bag and pressing the red button.

The young man’s hover board wheeled over the sewer cap just as it exploded and arced him high into the air. He hung in space for a split second before dropping onto the road where he was run over by a BMW. Everything screeched to a halt. Someone yelled for the police. People started dialing 911.

“I bought a cheese sandwich, Ida. Would you like half?” asked Hazel demurely, as they watched the chaos unfold.

Ida took out a hanky and wiped her brow, perspiring from the excitement; “No, I think I’ll have just dessert.”


Presley Acuna is a writer, musician and technologist. He is an Ecuadorian-American, born and raised in New York City and currently living in Brooklyn. He writes genre fiction as well as stories based on his own life experiences. His stories have appeared in The Rockvale Review.