(Previously posted on FB)


I see strange things on the road. Weird things that I must lookout for with my heart as well as with my eyes. Too easy to find yourself flat out in the street if you’re not paying attention.  You don’t want to end up just another strange flash of brokenness. Only another disturbingly weird experience for someone else to try to forget ever seeing. I keep a keen eye out for the strange, always.

Never know when traffic will suddenly stop in front of you, or all around you, for that matter. All it takes is something like the bizarre spectacle of seeing an obese man with no legs in a motorized chair, spinning uncontrollably in panicked circles up a busy freeway on-ramp, while trying to rescue his two escaped little dachshunds. All that strangeness trying to take me with it. The cars swerving. The dogs. One with its tiny legs a scampering blur, and fear nearly bursting its heart as it races for the shoulder. The other, lying still and leaking red in the middle of the lane. And the pale, legless, effeminate and obese man, useless to himself, his dogs and his God.

So far I’ve been lucky to continue to make it through it all. To make it home. From one red light to the next, I watch the people. Oblivious. I watch them tapping at their phones, heads down. I watch them applying their face paint, eyes fixated on themselves. I watch them fling their lit cigarettes on to me, the poison hissing from their lips. The light turns green and my chest stutters as I inhale deep, then let it go as I look both ways and pull the throttle.

From the back of my throat, down to my stomach and from there, with jellyfish like tentacles, the thirst wraps itself up my spine with sticky-stinging control.

Over the years my promises to myself have become like the part of a dunked cookie soaked in the milk for just a beat too long. Broken away. Missing. And sunk.

Yes. I’ve made it home again. And that’s a good thing, I know. But there’s an almost full bottle in the cupboard. Two, in fact. Though, the milk’s gone sour and I’ve got no more cookies anyway, I’ll let my thirst wait. So, here’s to the pathetic fat man and his dead dog. Here’s to me. And here’s to avoiding the strange and the weird the next time you’re on the road.


About magnumturtle

I write fiction.
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