novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- we have to stop for gas we pulled the station wagon over at a 76 in burbank. she walked to the median to pay as i cleaned the windows, talking to the woman in the car next to us. somebody put out a cigarette in that water. i wouldn't use that water to clean my windshield. (yeah, well, the windshield is pretty dirty. too many bugs, i said.) still. i wouldn't. she rubbed her hands vigorously against her sides for emphasis. i watched her mumu wobble. i put the squeegee back in its smoky water and watched the woman draw it out, shake it, and turn towards her car. walked inside, nodding to an ancient man sitting in a green folding chair next to an empty white bench as i passed. i studied the back of his fisherman-hat head through the window. he must have brought that chair from home, along with the floral patterned pillow cushioning his knees from the chair's metal frame. he leaned forward a little and his worn mismatched sweatsuit shifted, showing inches of bare ankle between cuff and courdoroy house slipper. he cupped a hand-held radio to his left ear, squinting into the sun. as i walked back to the wagon he said, you sure are an expert window washer. i sat on the bench and we made Old People Small Talk, he cradled his radio in his lap and rubbed his gums together. 10:57 pm - 05.05.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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