The Weekday One Hundred

Side of the road. After midnight. The car… dead.

I twist the key. The motor groans, grinds. Won’t catch.

I see the brown bag in the rearview. Rotisserie chicken cooling, ice cream melting, pickles… existing. Not good.

I jump out, pop the hood. I look down and laugh thinking I can make sense of it all. I unleash my portable starter anyway.

Red clamp here, black over there. Right? I try the key again. Still nothing.

Blinding headlights approach. I raise both hands. I’ll fling myself into the grill if necessary.

Anything for the uncomfortably pregnant wife waiting at home.