I’m driving my Ford F250 down a steep hill in the rain. The bed of the truck filled to the brim with sand and stone. As I play the drums on the steering wheel, I find out rather horribly that the brakes don’t work so well on a wet road. 2 tons of shit weighing down the back end. Screeching. Screeching. I Fish tail and slam into a silver Mercedes at the bottom of the hill. Glass explodes. Plastic shatters. Shovels fly out. Dirt and stone spray everywhere. The smell of rubber, radiator hissing.
Two strange machines now unhappily wed in a definite contract. The old woman pops out. Blood oozing, just above the eyebrow..
“Oh…oh, fuck!” She says, fixing her hair. She’s in a big hurry to get away from the scene. You know, no license. Drunk. Something…
I’m at fault, so I’m happy when she says, “Tell you what you’ll do. Come to my house tomorrow night.” She writes her home address on the hood of my truck with bold metallic lipstick. Copper. I get the sense the lipstick isn’t hers either.
When the Mercedes peels out and disappears forever, I’m left looking at the address in disbelief. It’s just a few houses down from mine.
I know what they do there.
The next night, I make myself go to that house. The door opens on a large family dinner. Corned beef. Potatoes. Cabbage. Soda bread.
Walls of blue smoke.
Nephews. A lot of nephews. The old woman introduces me to all six, staring hawk eyed beyond the smoke.
She doesn’t want my money. As it turns out, it wasn’t even her car, but I’m going to wish it was her car.
Her nephews are in need of a favor. I’m there to help them with it.