Cleaning

He took the Maserati to the hand car wash. Once the worker pulled the car out of the wash, he crossed the parking lot. “Just need to get something inside,” he said, rooting around in the glove compartment, searching for cash. No dice. He let out a sigh and headed back towards the store office. Inside on the right stood an ATM. Tapping his card against the reader, he answered the questions, $20 the minimum amount he could take out. Card error. He scanned the aisles for a snack and found a bag of beef jerky. At the register selected cash back. When he went to grab his keys, he slipped a five into the hand of the man who detailed it. “Gracias,” he said.

No. 121

Stingray

I saw the crowd before I saw him. A group of men and women in trendy clothes crowded around a ‘69 Corvette Stingray. Flash bulbs illuminated. Groupies hung about, watching, using their phones. Then I saw his face, and recognized the man behind the wheel: someone I’d seen before, a name I didn’t remember. I wondered if the car had been borrowed for the photo shoot, or if he had recently purchased. It certainly had never been in the neighborhood before.

No. 057