I ran out of cigarettes and reading material yesterday afternoon, both disasters of gargantuan proportion. We could have waited until the setting sun had dragged some of the oppressive heat to somewhere, anywhere, west of here to make a book run. There are all manner of cans and packages in the pantry that could have taken the edge off my jones for the printed word. I suppose, in a pinch, I could have found something on the Internet to occupy my attention. Since Kat needed to go to the bank, we swam our way to the truck and climbed inside the broiler of the cab. It was 1615 Hours when I backed out of the drive. That would make it about a quarter after four in the afternoon.

It took less than a minute to retrieve the mail from the community mail box thingie they use up here instead of door to door delivery as they do in civilized areas. A little blond headed girl and her mother were sitting on their bicycles in front of the boxes. I would tell you that I thought for a moment about running them over just to see the look on their faces. If I told you that, you would think I’m a sociopath or psychopath. I can’t bear the thought of y’all thinking badly of me so I will remain mute.

“What time does the bank close?” I asked Kat at 1626 Hours when I stopped for a red light. My window was partly down so the smoke from my next to last cigarette would pollute the clean Canadian air rather than the cab. The air conditioning was churning at Warp Five.

She glanced at the clock. “Ah, four thirty,” she said.

That wasn’t quite the truth. The bank closed at four. I circled the block and headed for the library. As Kat was getting out of the truck, the head librarian was leaving for wherever she goes when she isn’t playing library. She and Kat exchanged pleasantries; after all, Canadians are a polite people. Besides, Kat used to spend a goodly number of volunteer hours at the library. I’m not sure she was being altruistic. I think she liked being able to snag onto new books before anyone else got their hands on them.

For those of you that think I’m not environmentally conscious, you are wrong. I rolled down the windows and turned off the engine. You may wonder why I didn’t go in with her. After all, it was hot and I needed the reading material.

For you curious few, I have an answer. First, I was shoeless. After a few decades, I decided I was tired of shoes and decided to go barefoot as much as possible. There is a second, but I think I’ll leave you wondering about that.

Twenty minutes sitting in a truck when the outside temperature is 96 degrees is a lot longer than sitting in an air conditioned blues bar listening to some kick-ass blues. Being that I was barefooted, I probably wouldn’t have been welcome in the bar either. I’d pitched my last cigarette when Kat emerged with a bulging bag of books.

For once, there was a parking place in front of the store. Kat ran in to pick up my smokes. Why didn’t I run my lazy ass in to get them since I am the one that smokes them? It really isn’t any of your business but I’ll tell you anyway since I either love you, like you, am grateful to you for reading my scribbles, or I simply want to increase the word count. We put our money in the bank up here. It is Kat’s account and I don’t have an ATM card or the pin number. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t trust me enough to give me access to all of our millions.

About two minutes later, she was coming out of the store empty handed and with a look of panic on her face. That didn’t bode well.

“Where’s my card?” she asked when she got in the truck. “It is always right here in my purse.” She was frantically going through everything in her purse and there wasn’t much in there to go through. “All I have is Mom’s card.”

“And why do you have Mom’s card?”

“From the other day when we picked up some things for her. I must have forgotten to give it back.”

“Is it possible that you gave her your card?” I asked. “Seems to me, I remember you walking in with the receipt and card in one hand and the sack in the other.”

What would women do without us clear thinking and level headed men in a time of crisis and emotional upheaval? Off we went to make the card exchange and then back to the store. All was well once again in Friendly Manitoba – at least as well as it is likely to get.

I pointed the truck west which was the appropriate direction if we wanted to go home and home is where we were headed. I caught a red light. There was one car in front of me and two cars in the lane to my right.

I looked at the rearview mirror. A black Dodge Dakota driven by a woman was charging toward us. I thought, “Oh shit. This isn’t good.” There came the butt-puckering sound of screaming brakes. I tried to relax my back because I knew it was going to hurt like a bitch. I wondered if I would be given a ticket for bumping into the car in front of me. I thought about the fact that I have never been in a wreck.

A silk scarf could not have been passed between our rear bumper and the front bumper of that Dodge. The woman’s eyes were as big as saucers and her mouth was open in a silent scream. I realized my pulse wasn’t elevated in any way and I wasn’t pissed. When you drive around here, you are pretty much courting disaster.

Considering the distance the young lady left between us when the light changed to green, and the expression that was still frozen on her face, she probably needed to go home and change thongs. Or flour sack scanties; whatever in the hell they wear up here. I’d tell you what Kat wears but you have no burning need to know.

So we reach the end of this little whatever it is. You will make note that nowhere did I drool over a woman, talk about the color of the sky or the song of a bird. As a matter of fact, there is damned little description in this whole thing. There’s no mention of politics either. Not one complaint about the weather.

Life is sweet and that is all I have to say.