run while you can

Oh please.

Chip guy. Madison, WI. Winter 2010.

A good cookie shouldn’t crumble at all. Get it while it’s hot–

off the press: Woman accidentally marries a NASCAR fan.

He told me himself. In so many words, more or less:

(getting chatty)

Excuse me, sir, what is your profession?

I drive truck.

(bet you like licking them lot lizards too)

That sounds nice. The open road, yourself and your thoughts.

And my dog, Dale.

(really? Dale? Silent sighs, slapping my thighs)

Paying homage to a great man, honorable. What breed?

Pit bull. Pure bred.

(just like you! disguise my roll of the eyes)

Wonderful. So tell me, how did you meet this wife of yours?

(damnit, I accidentally made marriage sound like ownership)

Clemmie?

(sure sounds sexually transacted, real venereal)

Naw… your other wife!

(dollars to donuts, he’ll like this humor)

Har-har-rarr!

(phlegm filled cough, wipes hand on trousers)

You dog you!

(feeding his ego a milk-bone, fake friendship)

Don’t you go callin’ me a dog. She’s my one and only.

(and a 64 ounce big gulp life line)

No disrespect. Where were you when you knew?

(attempted earnestness, pretended importance)

Behind the wheel. Between Oklahoma and Utah.

(romantic; ‘to me, you are 1200 miles in the mountains’)

I wish you the best future together.

(maybe not if that means many sons and daughters)

Thank you, stranger.

(you walked away while I was debating between handshake and hug)

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