My father slid two dollars into a grubby hand. There were rows and rows of cars missing their front teeth with crippled ribcages roofs glinting like rippling oceans in the morning. I trudged through patches of mud and snow in my fathers old steeltoe boots. We stripped a bumper off of an ‘88 Accord. It ought to fit the ‘87 though the colors don’t match. I leaned like a tower to counterweight my arm dangling with my father’s toolbox towards the exit.
About
Sometimes I sit in my basement in my underwear and begrudgingly watch George Lopez at 2 a.m. and eat consecutive bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios. I would like to meet a pleasant girl with long dark hair who likes 20th Century Classical music and doesn't mind the fact that my showers are infrequent.
