“She’s got herself a nice interior but, uh,” the salesman grunted, hacking and spitting on the ground what was left of his tobacco. A moment too late – “WATCH OUT, BUB! She stings if you ain’t careful!” The man shook his head. The salesman’s eyes were wide and serious, but in a funny way. He seemed almost crazy. The man shook his head. He knew better than that, and he continued looking over the vehicle for any possible problems it might have. Better to trust his eyes than the rough and tattered hillbilly behind him. He was scuffed up just enough to look seedy. “Where ya headed?” the salesman asked, gritty and mean. Assuming this was an attempt to make him forget about his earlier comments, the man obliged. “New York,” he spit out, ignoring the salesman’s reaction. “Ahh,” he groaned. “The city of bright lights and attitude problems. Heh! You gonna go find your dreams there kid, ain’t cha?” the salesman mocked him. The man sunk, gritting his teeth in order to shake it off. “I’m not that naïve,” he snapped, continuing to work. The salesman was quiet, twiddling with his toothpick in his mouth and reaching for another spot of tobacco. “Well, hey listen, we got a nice little cherry coupe o’er there yonder if yer interested.” The man snapped around to face the salesman. “Look. I need something. Stable. Reliable. You got that? I’m not interested in the fancy flashy act.” The salesman tilted his head, puzzled. “Then why are you headin’ to the big apple, son?” The man stopped. Scared he was going to turn around and snap at him again, the salesman backed away. “I can’t… can’t make any promises, son. But I’ll tell you this honest and true: she’s a good girl. I mean, fuck, I love that car like I’d love a woman… heh… a woman…” he trailed off, kicking the dirt beneath his boots. The man was feeling the interior now, his hands gliding over the peppered seats, or what was left of them. He could feel that things happened here, and not just the general obvious shit that people do in the car just because they have one… this car had something inside of it, inside of the seats, the shattered mirror, the smoky stench coming from the back. And it wasn’t just character – it was reality, cold hard reality. “If the smell bothers ya, I can wash it for ye,” the salesman offered, leaning. The man’s eyes went down. “No.” Again, quiet. He looked up at the street in front of them. The light had let out already. Cars were whizzing past, making it hard to hear anything but the sound of automobiles and money made of gasoline and smog and work and death. The noises clattered together until he just couldn’t take it anymore. “Might as well make it true,” the man thought to himself. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out some cash. Without even looking at it, he slapped it between the salesman’s sausage fingers and drove away.


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