Nascar

We fogged up the car windows. The pigs rapped on the front one, the taps miraculously in time, between head dips. We jumped, totally unaware, my pants as shackles, the seat down like a futon. The flashlight beaming through the shrouded glass- my glassesless eyes blurring the luminosity. I fumble wildy for them beneath the steering wheel. You open the door and the swine cackles in laughter. They thought it was a hot box, it’s okay. A warning given anyway, and it advises a temper pedic rather than front seat. I nod, embarrassed but relieved. Good night, door slam, engine, tire on pavement. The windows are clear now, I’m still up, you’re still shaken. I love you.Yeah right, nigga. Nascar.

• A True Story Inspired By Lonny