The Beat-up Car Still Running

by practicalspactical

An older man, with years of life I cannot yet conceive of, never held on to anything, never had anything, ripe for a literary narrative of growth and redemption, but still, old and broken, carrying scars and hidden diseases (ugly bleeding masses / glossed over with latinate words like tumor and metastasized / clutching at lungs with thick black ugly tendrils), coughing, always coughing —

His car — he’s had his car for years now — a Hanukah miracle it’s still running — every time it starts he says a little prayer of thanks — and driving it, it drives while it drives, he worries about it stopping, knowing that when he stops it, it will touch and go whether it will ever start again —

Knowing that every ride might be the last he’ll ever take —