En route homebound, I made the usual right turn into my drive. But a big, black, outdated Camero with those shiny, five-spoke wheels, was being pushed by a white kid from the rue behind him, in the MIDDLE of MY road and past my drive.
He was wearing black — cap, top, jeans and shoes. His hair color appears to be dark auburn. His girlfriend was “manning” behind the wheels. She had long brunette hair.
Of course, I was humoring myself and hollared: “Do you need help?”
He smiled, mumbled something and continued to push the heavy vehicle with his skinny body. Then he hopped into the drivers seat and tried starting his dead car. It choked once and died. It choked a second time and took some gas. Then the third choke it sputtered off down my drive.
All the while, I was pulling out my two black shoes, a paper bag of two plates, my usual lunch bag used by Paw during his meal at the USPS and my floral handbag, which the boy like.
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