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Weekly Contest #294
"Where are you from?" asked the heavy-set police officer who sat across from me. He had tired wrinkles around his eyes, reminding me of a racoon looking for a trash can. He lit a cigarette, filling the dimly lit room with a gray cloud. I coughed. He ignored my plea for fresher air, stood from the table, and walked over to another table to refill his coffee cup from the burnt pot. "I will ask you again, where are you from?" He turned to face me, taking a sip of the bitter grounds."1956," I replied. I studied his reaction to my answer. It was ...
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