Transmission


The engine to the truck slowed to an idle as he pushed down on the clutch.
He let the clunker coast down the slight hill, before pulling to a stop under the orangish glow of a modern street light.
He missed the old mercury vapor lamps.
But then — he was missing a lot of things from back when.
Soon the street would be filled with falling snow.
He wouldn’t miss that.
This morning though, it was simply below freezing.
His cell phone flashed before it began ringing that irritating factory set sound, that he had neither the patience nor the inclination to change.
It was the phone call, that phone call, the one he had been dreading for so long.
“So long.”
It wasn’t like this not very long ago, carrying a phone every place one went.
One more link in the chain.
Now anyone, at anytime could simple reach out and touch you, as the old Ma Bell TV commercial claimed.
He held the device in his hand and let the call automatically go to voicemail.
He tossed the damned thing in the glove box.
At least his truck was still a stick-shift and the heater worked really well.

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