People Watching
Got lost again. I drove to the end of the road in the rusty red Volvo (let's call her Nancy) and backtracked. I'm not very good at reversing; it's where all the collisions occur. I pull into the gas station, red dust rising, and look for my directions. There's a knock on the window, breaking my concentration.
A tanned and weathered man is looking at me. His veins stick out prominently like the Nile, running up and down his arms. A river runs through him. He (his name tag says Nico) taps his muddy work boots to the beat of the music blaring in his ears, which is faintly audible to me. Some kind of rap I think. I roll down my window.
"Excuse me miss," he says.
Miss, I miss you, especially in the winter time when the ice is thick enough to drive on and the sun hides out like we used to. My mother warned me once, "If you wait until the perfect time he will be gone." She's not the kind of woman to say I told you so but I still haven't slept in a week.
A tanned and weathered man is looking at me. His veins stick out prominently like the Nile, running up and down his arms. A river runs through him. He (his name tag says Nico) taps his muddy work boots to the beat of the music blaring in his ears, which is faintly audible to me. Some kind of rap I think. I roll down my window.
"Excuse me miss," he says.
Miss, I miss you, especially in the winter time when the ice is thick enough to drive on and the sun hides out like we used to. My mother warned me once, "If you wait until the perfect time he will be gone." She's not the kind of woman to say I told you so but I still haven't slept in a week.