Up in Flames

On the day that we drove to the new apartment, I held the map and suggested routes. This was more than slightly ridiculous, as my main criteria for choosing a street was the size of the font its name was typed in in my street atlas.

We were already late for meeting the landlord. I took a deep breath and contained the rage that only the perpetually punctual can feel when trapped by circumstances into certain tardiness. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, and I could not see anything blocking the road ahead.

Until we got to the intersection. There, on the right hand side, was a truck on fire. Not just a few flames, either. The red-orange shot up from the hood of the SUV, licking and weaving. My mouth dropped open as we passed by, too fast to answer all the questions that came to mind. Later we drove by in the opposite direction, but the truck was gone. The bumper remained, charred and alien on the sidewalk in front of the B-B-Q sign of the restaurant on the corner.