Three tales of an ambivalent paranoid

by Andrea Elizabeth

The dump truck sped to 70 miles per hour up and down the hills

to keep ahead of me and thus subjected to the rock clods that sifted off its top.

On the other hand, he may have been trying to go fast enough

to keep them out of reach. I passed him anyway.

 

The checkout clerk took forever double bagging the cold and canned goods.

The three hands are environmental, insulating, and time oriented. She should have asked.

 

The girl at the dump, I mean landfill, got out of the little building by the scales

to inspect our truck, give instructions, and take my credit card and drivers license.

On our way out, she stayed behind the glass and used the sliding drawer.

I think she wanted to see how much I weighed by subtraction. She was too young to be tired.

However, she may have been trying to protect herself from the terrible smell out there.

On our other trips, not nearly so leaden, it smelled worse. Now the smell’s mixed with some sort of deodorizer.

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