Small Town Life Oh, God I hate this part of the drive. I gotta drive by the gas station and that tall guy will be looking at me. I know I should have paid that five bucks back before now, but I didn’t realize it until I got home and I’d rather die than go in after all this time and explain it. I just wish he wouldn’t look up at me with those big brown eyes. I feel so damn guilty. That was probably an hour’s salary to him. Gees … and there he is and here’s my right turn … Whew. That’s over. Every morning the same thing, turn right on 11th Street, a left onto Maple, dodge the pothole, avoid hitting Buster, wave at Mrs. Henderson, avoid looking at half naked Mr. Abrams on his front porch drinking juice reading the paper, and now the stop sign. Now, do I have the willpower this morning not to drive by the nail shop? Hmm … do I or not? I’ll let the radio decide. If I turn it on and it’s a song I like, I’ll take the direct way to work. If it’s a song I don’t like, I drive by to see if he’s there. I hate this song, left at the stop sign and proceed onto 8th Street. Pause at the stop sign and a left on Elm. Slowing down to a creep, (God I’m clever!) peeking around the back of the building, no car. Hmm … where the hell is he? Oh, I know, I know. He’s still in bed with the hussy no doubt. I hope she has awful morning breath this morning. Maybe he’ll take one look at her and kick himself for ever leaving me. Heh heh … old bat. GOD! I hate that I do this every morning! If he’s there I agonize over whether or not he saw me and if he’s not there I drive myself crazy wondering where he is. I have to stop doing this … oh, well. I owe, I owe so off to work I go.
part 2
Brenda Massey