Thursday-syzygy
1
Three beads of sweat are holding an invisible, but uncomfortable race behind the collar that covers the back of your neck. Maybe wearing a three-piece suit wasn’t the wisest wardrobe choice today. You’ve lived through summers like this your entire life, and each time one happens, there’s that longing to leave and the vows to end up somewhere else. That somewhere better have much more moderate summers.
As the hand-me-down Honda you’ve been driving for almost three months lurches into a diagonal parking space, there’s a rumble from behind your vest, above the broken belt. It’s obviously lunch time for most of the people in this sadly receding section of town. There are talks of someone purchasing the cinema across the way. Maybe that’ll be the re-seeding this strip mall needs.
You couldn't grok my racecar but you dug the roadside blur
You weren't into my airplane but you loved the whirling world
You always try to stop the engine at the “right” point in a song, and that point always changes. The car always beeps after cranking the key out of the ignition. This is a warning not to leave your keys in the car. The car windows have been cracked, and the inside of the driver’s side door is flecked with the ashes.
The pilfered sunglasses you’ve taken to wearing nearly slide off your nose as you unceremoniously slam the seat-belt in the door. On the second-try, it shuts.
To scout out the Dollar Store in search of happiness, Turn to Page 78.
To visit the Friends of the Family Thrift Shop, Turn to Page 11.