The Martyrdom of St. Valentine

Errico knelt by the Vespa and snapped the hose back into place.  He stood and pulled a rag from his back pocket, wiping his hands. “Try it now,” he said.

Enzo threw his leg over the scooter and kicked down on the starter. The motor caught at once, belching out clouds of white smoke that filled the alley. He beamed at his friend. “You’re a genius!”

“It was only a plugged fuel line.”

“I couldn’t fix it. I tried, too.” Enzo smiled. “If I get a car, we can double date. Only room for one girl here,” he said, patting the seat behind him. “Ciao.” He gunned the Vespa, waving as he tore out  into the square.

Errico wasn’t interested in a double date. He wanted Enzo alone.

He wanted his eyes and his shoulders, his white teeth and full lips.

Errico was used to wanting what he could never have.

 

What Pegman Saw

9 thoughts on “The Martyrdom of St. Valentine

  1. I fear for Enzo this kind of ‘want’ cannot be good for him. An everyday event was turned into a horror story (at least for me) in an instance – nicely done!

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