Page 21 - The Myth and the Moment

Morning

Stone Age. Haven’t thought about them for weeks, actually; ergo,
wasn’t trying to forget their shenanigans. Maybe they’re sitting up
there laughing at me: poor old Nate, look what a bum he’s become,
did you know he was a great poet and playwright back in the Fifties?
No! Honestly, Phil? Yeah, sure. I used to help him produce his stuff,
gave him lots of breaks, but he just couldn’t handle success.
Disappeared from the scene one day; first time I set eyes on him in
twenty years, would you believe that?
“Hey, mister: you better move your truck.”
“Eh?”
Kid crept up behind me!
“It’s sticking out into my driveway.”
His driveway?
No, not a midget, a real human child in a suit, white shirt, and tie.
“What?”
“Look!”
Back of the truck didn’t quite make it to the curb. No car in the
driveway. Probably could get around my bumper anyway.
“Yeah, I see it, kid. Do you see I have a flat tire?”
That stopped the little monster. Or did it? He’s coming back.
“Does that mean you can park in front of my driveway, mister?”
“It means I can’t move the truck until the tire is fixed.”
Maybe that will stop him: cold facts against legal theory.
“What if you never fix it?”
All right, kid. You asked for it.
“What if I never fix it? Now that’s a very interesting question,
young man. How do you propose to know if I never fix it? Do you
know when never is over? I hope so, because that’s when you can
decide what to do about my truck.”
How can he look so cool in that suit?
“I don’t have to know. I don’t even have to be here. I don’t even
have to decide.”
“Ah, now, that’s more reasonable. You have a grasp of reality far
beyond your years, my friend.”
“God will take care of you and your truck.”
“Huh?”
“God will be here at the end of never, and you better have your
truck fixed and out of my driveway by then.”

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