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It’s probably nothing.
A small seam of rubber parting with the wheel.
I found it in the late morning in Kansas after coffee with a friend. After goodbyes.
I’m a little behind schedule, so I decide not to think about it.
The gas pump clicks. I return it to its hook. Top off the windshield wiper fluid.
Let’s put the audiobook on and roll out.
Now I need to connect my iPod to my speaker. The car’s radio is broken, so I stuck a portable speaker in the cab.
Where is it? Where’s the speaker?
I take the two boxes and two bags out of the cab.
Dig to the bottom of every pile of supplies.
I was robbed last night.
These old truck doors can’t lock.
I took out most of the important items last night.
But now I’m left with a broken radio & no speaker for my iPod.
No Grateful Dead, no Joe Rogan.
Eighteen hours of silence?
Tough on the brain.
I pull around the corner & stop in an auto store. Buy a similar replacement speaker.
Then it’s westward once more.
Down through Oklahoma.
Across the Texas panhandle.
You never saw a land so barren.
There are no structures, no trees.
It’s even difficult to identify plow-tracks of farmland. Yeah, this isn’t even farmable.
The distance shimmers in the heat.
I think about that seam, that little bubble in the tire.
In fact, I think about it for hours.
Pull the handle for windshield wiper fluid.
I get nothing. The glass stays dusty.
I guess fluid level wasn’t the problem. The line is broken somewhere.
Say, with no spare tire and one can of Fix-a-Flat, and nobody around, what would happen if I broke down on the panhandle?
Search the GPS for nearby gas stations.
Search for nearby restaurants.
An hour later, I check again. None.
Hold, tire bubble. Get me over the panhandle.
Into the lush- hahaha- no, it’s not lush- but-
Get me to New Mexico.
It would be like breaking down on the moon if that bubble burst now.
Here on the empty roads of the barren panhandle. Always empty, yet more so, now for the pandemic.
Burst, tire, if you must, but not yet.
Driving to New Mexico on a bubble.
To be continued