Hot Dog
By Randy Register
Smashwords Edition
Copyright by Randy Register 2011
All rights preserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form except for purposes of review.
Hot Dog
We got up late, but it was Saturday. I quietly stretched and yawned; then rolled over to find my baby staring at me. I smiled and reached for her, but Jaylynn had decided we were going to work in the garden.
“Maybe plant a little basil and tomatoes,” she said.
She wiggled away, distracting me from my amorous intentions.
“Oh no, it’s late. We’ve got peat moss and cow manure to buy.”
That did it for me. I’d probably never eat another tomato or basil leaf again. The Jaguar-Colts game came on in a few hours. It was best to establish priorities and cooperate.
We got lucky and pulled into a space in front of the Home Depot. I had my car door open, my head just clearing the roof, when I heard a yelp.
“What’s the problem, Jaylynn?” I asked.
Nothing, no response. I immediately ducked back in, thinking she’d hurt herself somehow.
Her skinny butt was in the air, her face pressed tightly against the passenger window, looking back at something. Muffled words, something like, “I can’t believe this. It’s horrible,” floated from oddly pursed lips that must have been licking the window. I leaned across her.
As I moved closer, I caught a whiff of her perfume. “Aaaa,” I groaned with ecstasy, to hell with football.
“Yeah,” she said, “Makes me want to puke, too.”
Then I caught sight of him, and a different “Aaaa” escaped my lips.
“I know what you mean. Somebody has to save him.” She reached for the door.
Trouble. Sitting in an electric wheelchair, an oxygen tank strapped to it with twin hoses running to his nostrils, was a huge man. His body stressed his shorts and stained t-shirt. Tennis shoes, too small and bulging at the strings, looked like wrapped hams. A hint of black sock squeezed from the top of each shoe and merged into white support hose that reached his knees. He had one of those blue-tooth phone things sticking out of his ear and appeared to be talking to it as he pulled a hot dog, dripping with chili and coleslaw to his lips. He reached for a super sized jug of something.
He was a master of balance: the sloppy dog, the giant cup, and the phone call. Maybe the blue-tooth was keeping him alive. I shook my head. Absurd. Then, one of those big dragonflies, a bomber, I call them, landed on the talky thing, like maybe it was trying to mate with it.
It only took milliseconds to absorb before the click of the door handle.
“Nooo.” I launched across her, pulling the door shut with a slam as I pushed her back in the seat. I peeled out of the great parking space. There was always football.
“Stop, Jake. Stop the car. You’re driving crazy.”
“Put on your seatbelt.”
She fumbled for it. “Jake, stop the car. We didn’t get the peat moss.”
“Yeah, but I saved that guy from a crazy vegetarian.”
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About the author
I've been sheltered for a few years, enjoying life, meeting people and sailing the Caribbean. Somewhere along the line I discovered that people suck and writing is fun, a means to work out issues and frustrations, yes, but more, to exhilarate in the wonder of life. And people don't suck. Well, some do, but that's life and life's not meant to escape. Love it, endure it at times but start every day with the wonder of it and mostly, enjoy.
Connect with me online
Yeah, I know, there's nothing to connect to. I'm all alone. I said I'd been sheltered. It's coming, yes, Facebook and a personal web site, drawing me out of the world of wonderful privacy that no one seems to appreciate anymore. I'm a writer now and I want someone to read and enjoy my work, so there are sacrifices. Of course I'm going to have to start charging if you like my stuff. So, I can't lose. I either get paid or I have my privacy and sail back to the Caribbean and live under a pseudonym. How's Reege Marco?
Look for "Martini and More..., and Coffee and More... coming soon. "Martini's on Kindle now. Oh yeah, "A Talk With Ann," will follow this. A little political satire, a nice vent, with great respect for all, follows in a day or two. Ann's free, too. How can I charge for a peaceful vent. Coulter is great, ask her. Namaste', Randy