Vince and Gerald
Vince and Gerald watched as the sky shifted from blue, to white, to a cold and flat gray. They saw the lightning shoot from the sky and tag the ground, then heard the rumble of thunder.
And then, just like that: It was pouring.
Gerald turned to Vince. “Wow, man!,” he whispered, wide-eyed, and pointed to the device in Vince’s hands which looked like a controller for a toy car. “THAT did this?”
“Well, yeah. It’s a weather machine. That’s what it does,” Vince replied flatly.
“Huh. And here I thought the CIA controlled the weather, right? Heh, heh.”
Vince narrowed his eyes. “Please. The only things the CIA is good for are assassinating people and supplying crack to the inner cities.”
Gerald started laughing, then stopped cold when he looked at Vince and realized he was dead serious.
Gerald stopped hanging out with Vince shortly after that. The guy knew too much and was too smart for his own good.
But for the rest of his life, every time Gerald heard, saw, or read something about a natural disaster somewhere, he thought of Vince. Thought of him, and wondered.