The Driver had nowhere left to go so he slammed his brakes
and skidded to a stop beneath the neon lights. Blue and red flashed from the
rearview mirror onto his aviators. His hands were slick with sweat within his
gloves. He took one, long look back, breathed, and stepped out with his arms
raised. The authority had him surrounded; every headlight on him, red dots
circling his leather jacket like insects. Even in the glare and beneath the
blue and pink neon advertising, he was a dark figure; hair slick, boots and
jeans black, grease smeared across what you could see of his face. One foot on
the tarmac, one foot in the car; he smiled as a drone circled down from above
to handcuff his raised hands.
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