Wednesday, June 15, 2016


     Roberta and I leave the restaurant. I wait for her, as she steps down the curb between our car and the next one. The bag with a take-out dinner is heavy, so I put it on the trunk of the car.
images (275×183)     I push a button on a remote, but the doors remain closed. A few more, increasingly impatient, pushes, and I accept that it doesn't want to work. I pass the key to Roberta, who is blocking my way, and ask her to open the door manually. 
what-is-your-problem.gif (500×255)     She tries, but can't do it. I get frustrated. "Why can't she do this simplest thing?" - is what's rattling in my brain.

I hustle Roberta aside and poke the key into the keyhole. It goes in just a little bit, but stops there. I poke it in a couple more times, afraid to break the key in the lock. 
     - "Is that your car?" - Roberta's voice reaches me through the fog of incredulity. 
dc24b855ae73e85282a8a96e3d9765798627393ca1ac7c8f8b43ddbe9eb71590_1.gif (450×541)     I look over the smooth golden car top to another one, the same color, but with sun-roof. Like what my car has...

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