The sun is hot but the air is cold. Cloud coverage causes a chill and forebodes rain. I've picked a good day to splurge on the triple foam and exterior shine.
There's a Starburst on this table. Unwrapped, alone, and yellow. If it were pink I'd probably eat it.
I sense the mexican towel twirlers and talking about me. They smile to each other and nod in my direction. I stare at them.
It's cold now. The storm above the mountains has traveled overhead. An old man converses with a guy wearing flip flops. His name is Jerry. I know this because his car is ready. It's a BMW. Maybe I should've worn flip flops.
I picked the green Naked juice today. It has broccoli in it. A woman vacates a yellow Xterra wearing a white tank top. I am cold. She will regret her choice of wardrobe.
The same attendant offers me a new car. I cannot understand him. Recalling my previous fruitless interchange, I decline his offer. The metro police department is across the street, anyway. I wouldn't make it far in a stolen conveyance. Not here.
The Starburst taunts me.
Tank top girl recovers a sweater from her car. I was correct. Flip flop guy has since vanished and I am left in solitude at my table, save for my unedible candy companion.
It is cold. And the clouds are now endless. My car has yet to emerge from the wash. Or maybe it's that one in front. I can't get a good look. The uncertainty leaves me at unease.
Adam's car is ready. Adam drives a Nissan. Adam looks confused. With Adam's departure I've located my car. It was the one in front. This is good news, because it's cold.
Something smells good. It is not the Starburst.
My car is done. They call my name. The many melodic syllables sound misplaced in their mouths. I juggle my notebook, and pen, and green juice. Goodbye, Starburst.
I get in my car and remember to take it out of gear before I let off the clutch. I forgot to last time, and I publicly stalled out. It was embarrassing. I celebrate my brilliance this time, silently. I tip the man, and drive away.
Directly into the rain.