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Silkworm Ink

January 10, 2014

Finkel kept a water pistol on the table next to his front door to chase away the stray cats that had begun to infiltrate his neighborhood. It was translucent green, shot a powerful stream and was call The Soaker. It never failed him. The same cats never came back. 
From across the street while sitting on my couch I watched as two clean-shaven young men wearing white shirts with dark ties and dark slacks approached his door. Finkel must have also seen them coming as they passed out literature to his neighbors or left some for those that weren’t home. They rang his doorbell.
I saw Finkel through his large front bay window as he slowly walked towards his front door his hand automatically reaching for The Soaker which he held behind his back. I continued watching as he pointed to the mezuzah aside his door just seconds before the two clean-shaven but drenched young men ran towards the road like feral cats chasing a rat.

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