Fiction by Robert Denby: "OK", Part Six
Photo by Beyzaa Yurtkuran We're driving around the streets of one of Salt Lake's suburbs. I'm not sure which one; I'm just turning where Bobby tells me to. He's huddled up a little, like he's cold, but he's holding up pretty well. Part of me keeps waiting for him to freak out, but he's been pretty quiet all day. I haven't seen him scratch at himself or do any of those things that meth users are supposed to do. It's been at least Saturday morning since he's used anything, and I'm guessing he isn't feeling all that great. "These apartments. That big sign out front." "Here?" "Yeah, that's the driveway. Pull in here." I turn in to one of huge two-floor complexes with buildings A-F, according to the directory posted right out front. There's a parcade running alongside the fence on the left and a pine tree in front of the main office or whatever it is. I pull a u-turn back out and park at the c...
