Page 24 - The Myth and the Moment

Morning

engaged? Can’t remember—must be another brain drain, snapped
synapses; well, it isn’t rolling off the jack and onto my face, so I must
have done something right.
Off comes the tire. All right, where’s the puncture wound? There.
A nail. From the True Cross, no doubt. Hey, kid: you want a souvenir
of the Holy Land? Now it’s Hodges’ problem. I don’t fix flats: not in
my contract. The spare: ‘tis a far balder thing than e’er my pate has
been, but a serviceable fill-in nonetheless. Twist the nuts finger-tight.
Ah, Nate, you’re such a tease. It’s all in the wrists, my dear truck, and
don’t forget: you’re the pick-up, and I’m in the driver’s seat. Sexual
imagery everywhere, if you’ll just close your eyes and look for it.
Getting into it now. Heat must have loosened these old aching
joints. Down goes the jack: whoosh. One! Two! Three! Four! And
you, number five nut, take that! All this crap can just lie in the back.
Will Hodges pay me for my time and trouble? I’ll tell him how much
I saved him by not abandoning the vehicle or—even worse—having
it towed back to his yard. Will he be grateful? Or will he be hateful?
Tune in tomorrow, folks, for the next thrilling installment of...Pools
of Glory!
And away we go! What euphoria: modern man, dejected and
defeated, gets his wheels rolling and pow!—back on the road,
superior to mere pedestrians, a knight in assembly-line armor. But I’d
better take it easy; that spare may not last long. How slow can I go in
third gear? Twenty? Fifteen? Whatever. Play it by ear, by the feel of
the road pulsing up through your sneakers. What’s this: can’t make a
left turn onto Santa Monica. Detour. Well, what’s the rush, anyway?
This is my day off. Was going to get a bit of rest, check the typeset
version of The Myth to be sure it’s ready for the engraver. No typos
allowed in this one. What a hassle that was. Get someone affordable
and they don’t know English. Ah, well. It’s only money. The budget
was big enough to cover that little mishap. Engraver better stick to
his estimate. Same with the welder and the containment vessel.
Now, down Doheny again; proceed with caution—and all the
dignity befitting a ship of the Royal Navy. Hey, turkey! Let me into
the right lane, damn it! I want to slow down! Driving used to be
considered a skill; now it’s just another martial art. Rules of public
behavior were almost tangible in the old days; you knew that if you
stepped out of line, someone would catch you, embarrass you.

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