Watching two guys negotiate a used car
in the Home Depot parking lot
in drizzling rain. I was going to say
“haggle,” but no. Friendly like,
the modest dance they do. Black Nissan
Maxima. Maybe, maybe. The seller,
a student in watchcap, plaid shirt,
black, tight jeans, looks slightly
intimidated by the taller, older
potential buyer. Now they’re sitting
in the car, and the headlights flash
on. Engine starts. The car moves (!)
through the parking lot. It’s 5 o’
clock. Cars move around me. Boys on
skateboards. I take my glasses off;
the parking lot lights, signs, are
bright smudges on the wet windshield.
Customers pull into the lot, park,
walk out again, start ignitions
(the sound so familiar, comforting,
even), and pull out.
Alright; they’re back, after a test-
drive on the highway. They sit there,
talking. It’s gonna happen, I think.
Money will be exchanged. Trip to the bank
something for something. Seller
is nodding. Deal.
Random lines from my bookshelf:
“With an effort now, I finish pumping grease into the mower’s zirts, then go lay my head on the lunchroom table and plummet into a fitful sleep.” —Charles Goodrich, The Practice of Home