By James Raymond
He felt that first thunderclap roar in every tensed muscle. He was fixed to the spot whenever those amber eyes appraised him. He’d come for stripes, paws, and whiskers; he kept going back to be stared at like meat.
The bank laid him off right after he bought the annual pass. What a child he had been. Now he came to the tigers every day and imagined climbing the bars, his heart bursting with adrenaline.
It was the new job offer that saved him. Three days a week selling ice pops. The guys in the kiosk had been watching him too.
Nice!
I like this so much. Understated and yet menacing.