There’s a guy using two wrenches
to drum on a metal mailbox that
stands by itself in the parking lot
of the local strip mall. This irritates
the hockey coach in sunglasses trying
to get cash from the drive through ATM
about thirty yards away. He slaps the space
above the cracked screen over and over to
vent his anger at the slow to dispense
banking tool, and the slow witted musician
making sound.
A mother and her daughter walk out of
a small salon called Rita’s and proceed
out to their van which sits in the exact
center between the two angry men.
She looks at the drummer and the look of
rage on his face makes her walk faster
gripping her daughter’s hand.
The little girl is jerked forward due to her
wanting to slow down and listen to the
rhythm of the senseless banging.
At this point the mailbox man can see that
he’s gotten under the hockey coach’s skin,
and the hockey coach with his cash now in hand
wants to give the unpracticed percussionist some
discipline. Sunglasses now off he whips his car
around toward the unending song and kicks
the pedal hard so his tires screech.
The car slams into the mother and daughter
with freshly cut beautiful hair; pinning them both
against the side of their van. Both men see this, but
neither of them is one to give something up once
they’ve started. The coach continues to floor it pushing
the entire van sideways crushing the two women’s bodies
further between the metal. It all stops when the
wreckage is pressed into the mailbox denting it
severely and dampening the sound. The hockey
coach steps shakily out of the driver’s seat, and
the drummer tosses one of the wrenches at his feet.
Teleporting Typewriter 