Tuesday, 17 August 2021

The Humboldt Hit

Cutting through the sleet of darkness - The roar made from 500 cubic inches
snarling beneath the hood of his '75 Cadillac Coupe deVille -

(I say his as in I may have acquired/borrowed) - Exhaust tips resonating 

my throttle input down alleyways and bouncing off urban brickwork - Quad halogens

cast shadows upon the freshly plowed snowbanks at 30 miles per hour,

Dimly guiding me through the streets in the upper west side -The worn

and now frozen wiper blades passably keep the snow from penetrating the windshield -

This Sunday morning 3AM blizzard having already arrived - Promptly erasing my path 

as fast as the Bridgestone’s can carve it:

 

A perfect storm....

                                For the perfect crime.

 


Sinatra's "Fly me to the Moon" starts playing over the 6x9 speakers - I crank up

the dial on this shit radio and proceed to stretch my palms at 10 and 2

and clasp the wheel again a few times - Relieving the Arthritis in my battle-scarred knuckles

now covered in the bloodstains (of the owner of said vehicle) Along with 

my white collared shirt and pinstripe tie - By orders passed down from powers above - 

The stench of dried blood mixed with tobacco smoke embedded in plaid upholstery 

forces me to roll down the windows -  

- Again -

Letting in the cold chill of November air...Punishing an already tired defrost heater -

Not sure what's louder:

 

A.

The fan struggling to keep up to the climate controls - Or -

 

B.

The hum of the right passenger wheel bearing competing with The Sultan of Swoon.

 

 

A right turn at the Humboldt Lagoons State Park sign leads the Caddy

en route towards the boat launch (So befitting for a land yacht such as this)

The weathered brakes squeal to a halt - Sliding/ploughing on all 4's...

Before stopping 2 and a half tons at the edge of the downslope -

Opening the cold four-foot chunk of American steel and glass

forces the hinges to screech loudly...Followed by a sudden thud upon closing -

Chicago's frigid winds cuts though my clothes like the butterfly knife that cut he,

(who is not to be named or talked about) and is currently residing in said vehicles trunk,

Was given an Italian necktie as a going away gift for talking/knowing too much -

With a wooden cane propped against the accelerator pedal and front bench seat -

Manually shifting the three on the tree to the letter D - Pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds

from my breast pocket before Igniting one with the stolen dash lighter

now kept as a memento - I witness the chrome icebreaker descend within the hole it's made

only for Jack Frost to cover my sins till spring yet again

- Still -

As the crimson lights disappear into the lagoons abyss,

I couldn't help but ponder:

 

 

"Man Ol' Blue Eyes really could sing....

                                                                   He really could sing."

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