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.
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