To kick off the lyrical month of July in the year twenty twenty-two, Mistress Rochelle stayed close to home again by drafting from hubby and sending us a photo of a 1960 International Harvester pickup truck, credit to her musical goy-boy-toy, Jan Wayne Fields.
Some folks name their cars and trucks, even the ones used to earn some extra college moolah in the mid-1960s.
Genre: Flowerchild Fiction
Title: Poppy Redux
Word Count: 100
I paid little attention to my surroundings as I picked out flowers.
I heard, “Hey asshole. Long time, no see. How’s it hangin’?”
“Poppy?” I looked closer at the pickup.
“Holy shit. You must be over fifty.”
“Sixty-two. I’m haulin’ flowers now. No more runnin’ grass like with you guys back when.”
I said, “Sorry, man.”
“No worries, Bill. I’m the new chick magnet.”
The flower farm guy walked up.
“Hey man, how much you want for this rust-bucket, farm boy, pick ‘em up?”
“She ain’t for sale.”
I smiled, “He. Poppy is he or him. Now, what’s it gunna take?”
Look both ways when you hear familiar voices.
Mind the gaps, but buy it, build it, make it, or take it.
Whatever gets your ride to roll.