No Hubcaps, No Conclusion, No Problem

"His goal in life was to be an echo" ~Wilco


Meth shake in place, he stood in short sleeves in the blustery cold and stared blankly
at the road. He seemed to be thinking (or not really thinking...whatever) "I think I'm
waiting for someone, but I'm not really sure...but who ever it is, I'm sure they'll be here soon..."

Pacing and pacing and shaking his hands, he walked around his car. He fingered his blondish 1970's mustache and talked to himself...The car...nearly as puzzling as the guy that I watched through the steamed up windows while I waited for you at the gas station...the car...I have no idea what it was...one of those ugly 1980's Ford LTD type of cars. Gas Hog, Two tone gray, no hubcaps. What was odd was that the guy...meth guy...had three large heavy appliances strapped to it. It looked like a dishwasher and a stove strapped in the open trunk and a refridgerator strapped to the roof. The weight of all three had the car's bumper trying to kiss the pavement. One bump and I'm sure those straps would have given and the car would have puked Maytag on the highway.

I watched as he pulled out a golf club. He came around the front of the car (still talking to himself) and propped the hood up. He came back around and got out a quart of oil. He sat it on the front bumper of the car and then he fidgeted around for quite some time. Talking to himself, anxiously looking at the road, squirming around, shaking his hands, fingering his mustache.

The roads were bad...I mean really bad. It had snowed all day... Why had he picked a day like today to haul heavy junk? He did not put the oil in the car or even check the level. He closed the hood and swiped the oil off of the bumper and caught it mid air.

He went inside and asked for matches. When told that they didn't have any, he nervously and shakily picked through the lighters unable to make a choice.