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."
