There is nothing of substance to eat. The apartment still smells of new paint. The furniture is a hodge podge of hand me downs and rescued junk. Seating consists of a folding camping chair and a desk chair rescued from the dumpster at work. The coffee table a gift of unwanted wood and white paint from Sister.
It remains that there is nothing of substance to eat. It is Thursday night. Temperature outside creeping above forty degrees. There is also no coffee creamer. This requires a remedy. The carpet is brown, and clean. Linoleum on the kitchen floor, brown as well. Clean as well. Everything is in its place. Coffee Maker on the counter next to the refrigerator. Toaster on the counter next to the stove. Sink is sunk into the counter where the sink had ought to be. Dishwasher tucked under the counter next to the stove and book ended by the sink.
The kitchen is open, charming, clean and bright. It has one of those ridiculous attempts at space utilization that is the turn table corner cabinet. It does not spin freely, therefore it is left open. Shelves exposed. Decorated with the meager collection of food stuffs that a newly singled male would have. Cheez-its. Popcorn, for a microwave that is possessed. Crackers for cheese that has been eaten. Bread for sandwiches. Knick Knacks adorn the top of the empty refrigerator.
It is 10:30 pm. Thursday Night. The fourteenth of March. There is nothing of substance to eat. There is a persistence of hunger. There is also no coffee creamer. There is also a persistence of morning coffee desires.
The door of the apartment leads to a small common area. Directly to the right are the laundry machines. Old technology. Low efficiency, used by the masses. Abused by the masses. The door that hides the laundry machines does not do it well. Slats are missing. The knob simply decoration as the people who use it insist on leaving the door open and therefore in the way of egress from the apartment. There are four apartments per floor, two floors.
The door, the barrier between the outside and in. It must be locked with a key when leaving. The entrance to the foyer is a swinging door with no knobs or handles to hinder the residents. The truck is parked outside, facing the apartment that contains nothing of substance to eat and no coffee creamer. The truck is outside and outside it is cold, the inside of the truck is also cold. It smells faintly of cigarettes. Primarily the chalk smell of Marlboro Menthol Lights. Some of the more baroque browns and tobacco smells of Parliaments.
The carpet in the truck is brown, and dirty. The floor mats, brown as well, dirty as well. Seating consists of two bucket seats. Cloth covered and brown, the drivers seat worn on the edges due to exiting the truck and sliding off the seat. The truck starts and the engine runs smoothly. Idling high in the cold weather until the lubrication reaches optimal temperature. The heater blowing cold air on to a cold windshield. Dark green on the outside. Scratched and dinged from a life of use as a truck. Mud under the fenders. Empty soda cans, empty beer cans, empty beer bottles, empty cigarette cartons, and a tire iron litter the bed. A black bed liner installed. There are racks mounted to the bed rails on which boats are carried during warm weather expeditions to rivers and streams. The boats that get loaded are canoes, both red. A few kayaks, red as well. They are not loaded now. It is cold, and there is nothing of substance to eat and no coffee creamer.
The gear shifter is cold. It clicks down, the little red light next to the letter “R” on the dashboard lights up. Lifting the brake pedal the truck lurches backward. The steering wheel spinning to the left as the truck backs up to face the right. The parking lot is paved. There is a steep shoulder at the first right hand turn. Residents in smaller cars will often cut this turn too tight and the right rear tire of that car will fall off the pavement. The tire gets dirty, the car bumps up and down. There is cursing inside the car. The truck does not turn too hard. It does not drop its tire down into the mud next to the pavement. The entrance and exit of the apartment complex is reached by a road that is limited in speed at 25 miles per hour.
Right turn, barely accelerating, barely remaining under the speed limit of 25 miles per hour. Passing a stop street on the right. A car sitting patiently, another stop street on the right, another car, sitting patiently as well. As the gentle incline of the hill begins a two way stop street approaches. Traffic crossing must stop and look both directions before proceeding across the road that the truck is traveling. On the right, a car is stopped, sitting patiently. On the left headlights indicate a car approaching the stop sign. That car does not wait patiently, there is nothing of substance to eat and no coffee creamer.
Headlights are bright. That is the purpose of them. They shine in front of the car they are installed on for a reason. Illuminating the road ahead after dark. Road signs, are reflective. There is a purpose in that. When headlights shine on a road shine, the light is reflected back. It is bright, easy to read. Attention grabbing. Stop signs are the same in every place of this country. Octagonal, red, white letters, and reflective as well. The car that is about to attempt to occupy the same space as the truck has a driver that does not pay attention to these signs, and their reaction to headlights. There is no sign of the driver observing that reflective national symbol, it is cold, and there is nothing of substance to eat and no coffee creamer.
It is 10:35. It is cold. It is dark and headlights are bright.
The sound made when the car makes contact with truck is loud, is violent, and is without much more character than a boom that is heard when slamming a van door. The tires of the truck, which has decided it does not want to occupy the same space as the car, are loud as they slide sideways. Tires are designed to roll, and when they do not roll and yet are moving they protest loudly. The truck tires doth loudly protest.
Empty soda cans, empty beer cans, empty beer bottles, empty cigarette cartons, and a tire iron slide around in the bed. The truck comes to a rest. There are truck parts and car parts littering the road like a young child has emptied a jigsaw puzzle box on the floor. When the car struck the driver’s side of the truck it hit just behind the middle of the driver’s door. The front bumper of the car making complete contact with the truck. Perfectly perpendicular. There is no part of the front of the car that is not damaged. The doors on the drivers side of the truck are no longer simply scratched or dinged. They are smashed as well, scraped as well. The step boards that were color matched to the same dark green of the truck and installed on both sides are now only installed on one. The driver’s side step is gone. Removed by that car which tried so valiantly to occupy the same space as the truck. It lays on the road several feet horizontally and vertically away from where it was installed. The truck is now facing the direction from which the car was traveling. The car now faces the direction to which the truck was traveling. There is 10 feet of space between the completely damaged front end of the car and the damaged driver’s side of the truck. Neither vehicle having been moved after the energy from the impact was dissipated it is obvious the level of speed attained by the driver who chose to ignore the laws of physics and highway navigation was quite high. Emergency dispatch is called. Authorities dispatched. Tickets are written. Information exchanged. It is cold, it is dark, there is nothing of substance to eat and no coffee creamer. Now there are no more cigarettes.
