Run Down

Peter lay in the street between a bicycle and a parked car, near the front fender. He sat up and leaned against the car; it was a white sedan and his blood smeared from the back of his head. Another man was face down on the pavement in front of the next car. His satchel was open, and soup pooled around his right arm. Noodles and some kind of brown meaty sauce spilled from a plastic box. Peter immediately thought of Chinese food and how much he'd like to have some right now. Evidently some kind of food delivery was not going to happen. A hungry woman or couple, perhaps a widower, would be wondering where was their food. How long would it be before someone realized they needed another order to be sent, was Peter's next thought.