(no subject)
“Goddamn I wish I had a horse,” Spiritual said. We were working on his Datsun 120 Y. Y was a good letter for this little machine. It looked exactly like a miniaturized Ford Maverick. The main reason why was that it supposedly got good gas mileage.
“Horses take up food,” I said. “They eat like fifty pounds of hay a day.”
“So,” he said, “you can just let them eat weeds and grass.”
I was under the car. I had a Sears socket wrench in my hand. I was trying to loosen the oil pan bolt. The wrench slipped off the bolt and my hand slammed into the chassis. I cursed.
I went on: “Horses are a fucking cliché.”
“Cliché is a fucking cliché.”
I heard him spit.
“Dude,” I said, “fucking,” I rolled out. “Fucking you try this bolt,” I said. “I’m fucking done.”
The sun made me squint. I thought about getting some lemonade.