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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 125 come in tomorrow to be sized for my uniform. I'll also have to bring a statement of insurance so they can photocopy it for my file. Greta will be so happy with me. I'm as happy for her as for myself; that she can believe her faith in me wasn't so foolish, that she can finally justify me to her bitch of a mother. That love counts for something sometimes. The insurance company wants a down-payment of eighty bucks to insure me again, and I hesitate. I was expecting it to be sixty, which is what my premium was before. They tell me I'm considered high risk due to my history of lapsed payment. I was planning on renting a movie and getting take-out with Greta to celebrate, but in the next instant I hand over every bill in my wallet, and swear an oath to buy her something really nice when I get paid. I take 1-15 home, excited as hell for her to get off work so I can tell her the news. Halfway to my exit the engine lurches once, twice, something knocks deep inside. I hear a sharp smack like an infant slammed against a wall, and the car sputters and coasts, no longer propelling itself forward. I rum on the emergency flashers and guide it onto the shoulder where it slowly rolls to an insolent halt, along stream of fluids painting the blacktop behind me. I curse myself for not having the oil changed, and walk down the freeway to the next off ramp. Some jackass in a white Trans Am hangs out the window to yell something obscene at me, and throws an empty Coke can. At home I get a phone call from a telemarketer trying to sell me a cell phone. The only thing I've dreaded more than this is a call from Greta while she was at work. I tell him his company should pay my phone bill for the privilege of calling me uninvited, and hang up. Then I curse myself for not asking to be put on the Do Not Call List. |