The early winter evening had begun like a pleasant
late fall night. Under the cover of darkness a hard freezing rain
slid in and caused the late night to turn bitterly cold. As the rain
slowed it turned to ice and the temperature plummeted along with the
raindrops. A weak neon sign that sizzled as it shorted on and off
sporadically spelled out “Left—s B-r” above the exterior of the aged
brick drinking establishment. As the temperature plunged the number
of patrons dwindled as they took their evening out and headed
elsewhere.
A young man lifted his head off of the bar. He shook
his stylish long black hair and tried to focus his glazed dark eyes
as they traveled around the room. Then it clicked. He was the only
one left in the bar, with the exception of the bartender. In a
slurred voice he called out, “Barkeep, a steaming black coffee to
go, it ’s time f or Mike to boogie.”
The invisible cold clutched at him as he exited the
bar, clad only in a flowered silk shirt, thin leather jacket, silk
briefs embroidered with ‘stud muffin’, cream-colored linen pants and
Italian leather loafers. These clothes were the reward Mike had
given himself for the theft and sale of his last Jaguar. His mind
still inside the bar Mike failed to notice the icy conditions
outside. He suddenly slid across the ice rink of a sidewalk and
slammed into a newspaper rack. Mike’s fuzzy brain tried to revive a
memory of having once had an overcoat and gloves and hat, but then
again, maybe not. He looked with blurred vision both ways down the
street and arrived at the conclusion that it was deserted. Primal
instinct whispered, a great night to boost a car. The unseen cold
began to gently touch and harden his extremities. As he slid along
the street he caught sight of a 2005 Jag behind a chain link fence.
A golden opportunity for someone in Mike’s line of work, a fence
with a rusty old gate and a broken lock. In fact, that lot may have
a number of possibilities. Holding on to his coffee, Mike squeezed
through the gate, ripping a gash in his pants, and bloodying his
knee. It must be o.k., he thought, the blood stopped flowing almost
immediately. Mike crawled rapidly into the Jag and quickly hotwired
the car and started it up, but it wouldn’t move. As he climbed out
he fell to the ground and came up eyeballs to the wheels, at least
where they should have been. There were none.
“Shit”, Mike cursed as he got to his feet, noting
strange sensations in his extremities. He examined the other cars, a
Mercedes with no windshield or any glass, a Porsche with no engine,
even a Vette with no interior, then finally a BMW that appeared
complete. He eased into the seat and hotwired the car, then relaxed
when it purred to life and he drove it out through the broken gate.
A slight tap on the gas sent the car into a series of 360 degree
spins on the iced over streets. Around and around the car gracefully
spun ending its’ pirouette against a brick wall on the driver’s
side. The tepid coffee hit Mike’s crotch triggering a rather large
flow of urine there. Stunned, Mike reflexively realized the need to
get out of a stolen car and far, far, away. He struggled to open the
door to no avail; the brick wall would not budge. The beads of sweat
that were now forming on his forehead were freezing and rolling like
B.B.s onto the seat. By now the cold had unified and solidified the
urine and coffee, freezing his designer pants to the seat. Beginning
to panic, Mike looked up and realized the moon roof was wide open.
Starting to unbuckle his pants he couldn’t understand why his
fingers were stiff and not functioning very well. Finally, he got
his pants unbuckled and grasping them and his stud muffin briefs he
jerked them both down to his feet. The loss of a layer of bottom
cheek epidermis brought a howl of pain from Mike’s hardening lips.
Mike made quite a comical sight as he emerged through the moon roof,
light leather jacket, silk shirt and Italian loafers, but then there
was no one to see him anyway. As his feet touched the icy street he
careened into a nearby lamp post shattering his right ear. Realizing
he must be in serious trouble he tried to scream for help. The
volume he produced was not able to evoke anything more than a few
“go to beds” and the odd “shut the hell ups”, from one or two
apartment windows. By this time his lungs were telling him to eat
shit and die. As he started to slide away from the lamp post he
stumbled and barely retained his balance. His shoes had become wet
in the car and were now frozen solid to the sidewalk. Slipping out
of his shoes he headed aimlessly down the street. Halfway down the
next block Mike stumbled and fell face down on the frozen sidewalk.
The impact sent his remaining ear down a storm drain, his nose
splattered and other more intimate extremities shattered and
scattered.
The following morning as the sun warmed the scene, a
small crowd of police and EMTs stood around trying to figure out how
a man could have been out in thirty five below weather in a silk
shirt, thin jacket, with both ears gone, a piecemeal nose and
shattered private and non-private parts. They all shook their heads
and figured they had seen it all until the next time.
