If looks could kill

Lost in thought I wandered into the valley of paper goods, blocking out the light. The chill that followed was not the loss of the sun but the freezer case in the next isle at Super Walmart. At first it was the brunette hair that caught my eye. In front of the Dannon Yogurt display it appeared that she was furtively eating... one of the cups of yogurt.. with a plastic spoon. No one else was in the area so my immediate impression was that this denizen was stealth-snacking. I headed for her, incredulous. She appeared to straighten the containers and make a charge in my direction. Escaping? Maybe a Joust of approaching shopping carts. who will pull up first? My eyes boring in on her hoping to let her know I was on to her little crime. Well she gave the who-the-heck-are-you-staring-at look and I was dumb struck by the lack of shame, the unmitigated gall. I wanted to exclaim this society is heading straight for h...when I noticed the Gentleman in a white apron passing out samples... some kind of pudding...white spoons..flushing, I turn, gone. Lady, I'm sorry for the ugly glare. Good citizen? huh, this vigilante better mind his own business. --James
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88 feet per second

January 1977 was one of those tweener years. 6 of us borrowed my dad’s big Pontiac for a ski trip to Beech Mountain. At 20 or 25 you have the world by the tail. But how tenuous the hold. Is it just a coin toss that separates the typical altered state moment from mortality? Just a bunch of friends on holiday, flying weightlessly on the freeway. The cold gray clouds give up their moisture. The dusting doesn’t begin to accumulate till just past Johnson City. The music drawing us along, eager. Curse the tanker truck poking along in the track of the right lane at 5 mph less than we want to go. Step on it. What is an inch of snow when you are nationwide? Ease out in the left lane to pass- nothing to it. Making new tracks, inching past. better leave a cushion before easing back, slowly, slowly, feel the edge, starting to slip, slicing right, now dizzy, we spin in slow motion briefly facing the tanker like our accuser, for what seems like the 3rd rotation, and in pas de deux, fishtail onto the shoulder, just as the behemoth helplessly rumbles past. then silence. At loss for words. The Guardian Angel gives the sign for... safe.
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