Out there in the field at the end of town at the beginning of fields stood a tall man erect but broken, leaning hard against a post that weren’t there hoping for some support even if based solely on a hope – he leaned and he hoped he did not fall over.
A car, it was a Packard, big and green like an apple. Round and shiny like it was just polished. Pulled up to the man and stopped confidently with nary a tick of dust in the air. The erect man, he bent as though beckoned to do so. The assumption would be that the stranger needed directions was lost in the sticks and was seeking a highway.
The two they talked for a quite awhile. Their conversation seeming to pick up some steam as the lean man he leaned well within the open car window and created some agitation, like he might have even gotten a hold of the driver. The car swayed from behind as the driver shifted his weight away from his attacker, the car shifting with him listing to the left.
What is between two men is only between the two men and it is best to mind your position, less you find yourself in the middle. I do know when the lean man disengaged himself from the vehicle, he looked much the worse for wear, like he was stricken, but then I don’t know these facts. I was not there.
Man disappears from his repossessed farm. Is that out of the ordinary? Isn’t his obligation to do so? It’s the law. But he never showed up anywhere after, and that was the crime.
(from the archives: Dec. 2010)
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