“Where do I go now?” asked the Sleeping Jaywalker, Charlie wrote in the notebook as he sat in the cold, dark trailer his parents had lent him. The fortune teller shook her head. “Walking in your sleep requires your mind to be still. Don’t ask for direction, from your mind or someone else; just go where your spirit leads you.”
The Sleeping Jaywalker nodded, then started walking down the sidewalk outside his home, not knowing which direction he was headed or where his journey might take him, yet feeling certain that he was, indeed, going in the right direction. The fortune teller walked a pace beside and behind him.
He came to an intersection, traffic lights blinking in their lazy late-night condition, red in his direction and yellow along the street perpendicular to his. A yellow taxi cab sped past as he reached the end of the sidewalk — dormant instincts commanded the Sleeping Jaywalker to look in both directions before entering the intersection, yet he suppressed that thought, knowing that if his journey this morning were to be successful
Charlie paused, put down his pen, looked at the words he had just written — were to be successful — those words didn’t sound wrong but seemed foreign to him, like something he’d read in a British novel, along with words like barrister and alternate spellings like organisation. Definitely not something he’s expect to write. He shut his eyes and pinched them with his right thumb and forefinger, then picked up the pen again.
were to be successful, he would have to act like a sleepwalker. So he stepped into casually the street, forcing himself to continue as he heard a taxi approach, its tires screeching and horn blaring.
He did not know how long he had walked, or where he had arrived, when a man with a brown leather jacket stepped in front of him. “I suggest you stop right there,” the man said, pulling a pistol from his jacket pocket.