1792

Rain drops pattered on my windshield all night. Rain, rain, go away. Send the snow, but not to stay.

I parked the Red Dent across from my mark. It was a squat green house with white trim. A weather-stained cherubim leaned against a corner of the porch. There was an old desk, a few pieces of lumber and an old mat. Seemed like the accoutrements never changed whenever I delivered here.

I knocked. The door opened after a moment.

“Hey, wussup man,” the young man said. He was a full head taller than me, red shirt, wide at the shoulders. I’ve delivered to him before. Nice kid. Always gives a tip.

“Hey, buddy. That’ll be seventeen ninety-two,” I said.

“Ok.” He fished out his wallet.

“… when Columbus sailed the ocean blue,” I said. I chuckled. Funny joke. Personable delivery guy. Old rhyme. I was sure he had heard it before.

He handed me the money and told me to keep the change. I gave him his food and told him to keep the pizza. I left.

I took a step off the porch. I took a few steps. I got to the street, stepped off the curb and walked smack into a cold wave of embarrassment.

‘That was fourteen ninety-two,” I muttered to myself. I opened the car door and took a sad seat.  The 5.62 cylinder, 7 valve engine roared to life and I took off to my next delivery. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve said something dumb. That pile of money would be:

ROE INTENSE