Drunk car, Bad driver

Does your car ever talk to you? My car was revving mad at me. I think it was drunk on Special 95.

“You don’t know much about me, do you? Oh well, when you see them headlights comin at you, you know they are coming. But otherwise, what do you know?

One night you drive around as if gas is cheap and on hot summers, you park in the sun idling me like a ritual. It is irresponsible, expensive and unhealthy. I do have a heart, it’s alive and pumping and needs a break at times. One chamber is struggling to keep it all together while the other half has to keep you cool inside. While I’m out baking under a 100 degrees. And to top it all, the tobacco. If cars could cough, I would be the noisiest thing on four wheels in this town.

Let’s not even get started with your sense of direction. Without someone on your right, you would be in a different state every other day. My tires remember roads better than you do. I remember that rocky lane where you shouldn’t have gone, but you did and picked up a nail for me and we spent half a day waiting for help to arrive. Twice! And the stunt you did near RAK? You busted not one, but two of my deputies.

You are half a driver, an awful master and a forgetful wanderer. I wonder if your passengers ever found that out. What did they teach you on the first day at the driving school? When was the last time you held the wheel with both your hands? Why do you have two rubber bullets hanging in front of your eyes? Is it because you are fake? Or is that your idea of looking cool? Or simply put, just a constant reminder of the road you have taken?

When you spend unreasonably long times in cramped spaces like what I have to offer, you must know that it comes with certain responsibilities. When you don’t, I smell of grilled fish or shawarma all the time though you’ve got car perfumes stuck at three different spots. I smell like a hippie.

I must admit though; I am happy for the new seat covers. For all that they endured over the last few years, they deserve a medal. For the time being, seat covers will do.

We first met on a road to another country as strangers and 2 months later, we were together. As you turned the ignition for the first time, I responded with a smile. You heard that, didn’t you! But the day the driver takes the key off the hook on the wall, the countdown starts. Until you leave it back for the next one. I just want you to know that it has been one hell of a ride. Sometimes the ride is short and fun. While some are long and arduous. A lazy bum like you would pull into the shade, push the seat back, pull the hat over your eyes and listen to love nights on Radio 2. You know what I think? I say you amp it up and hit it. The road ahead is long but that shouldn’t worry you. The distance is relative. Cars are built for that shit. Take you from here to infinity.

But do you know that the greatest journey is between two people? How does a car like me know that? Because, I’ve been watching you through my mirrors.

Here’s to us, buddy! From here to infinity and beyond!”

Let One Go

Does he like picking sea shells on the beach or does he pick his nose? Is he an “I love my mom” type or does he google dark jokes about feminists? Does he like cats or is he in love with his car?

She wondered.

Are there skeletons in his closet or does he have a jumper gifted by his ex? Are my secrets safe with him or does he share my photos with his friends at the bar? Did he just flip a strand of hair off my forehead or does he do that to all girls? 

What if he isn’t sharing everything about him?

Is it his perfume or has my olfactory senses assigned a certain smell to his skin? 

Does he need a haircut? Should I tell him? What if his good looking colleague with pretty eyes has already told him? 

What would he think if I sounded too eager when he invited me for dinner the first time? What if I don’t go? What if he meets somebody else at the restaurant?

What if we don’t go for a walk together? What if our hands touch? What happens when we are out of touch?

What if he is taken?

What if he is possessed?

Is he looking at me? Does he look at others? Is somebody seeing him?

Is he the one or should I wait?

She was confused.

And he was right there, looking at her over the sandwich he was eating. With the mayo trickling down his fingers. 

“He doesn’t even know how to eat properly”.

And then he farted.

At that time, she knew.

It has to be him.

You don’t share a fart with just about anyone. You have to be completely at ease with someone to do that in their presence and while eating a sandwich. It is a sign from above, happening down below.

And to be technically accurate and to clear the air ( 😉) for you all who are reading this with a frown, we are talking about a fart and not a fizzle.

(Disclaimer: I am not responsible for any similar incidents in future and its aftermath that involves a couple, a sandwich and farts)

Brushback pitch

There are violets nestling close to the floor. There is the quiet hurrah of butter flies, a bobbing kaleidoscope. You have seen the frogspawns at the water’s edge and smelled the fresh cut grass. There are dogs on a leash. But all that won’t make it a spring yet.

Astride two gleaming steel rails and burdened sleepers, restrained, gurgling steam at a painted station, the engine waits. But it isn’t a train yet, until the whistle blows.

There are two momos in a plate and a table wedded to its chairs. Candles and stained damasks. Two pairs of hands. Hunger. But that doesn’t make it a dinner.

Which is why you shouldn’t kiss her, with just your mouth.