an imagined conversation inside an anonymous automobile


While driving down the road Morley noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Whizzing by in his diesel monstrosity (although Morley did not view it that way, his diesel truck was in fact his prized possession after his beloved collection of singing "Big Mouth Billy Bass", 19 total, that he had mounted to the wall of his gun room) he narrowly avoided hitting the thing, which upon glancing back in the sideview mirror Morley noticed was startled by the near collision and then resumed moving at a fairly regular pace, lumbering along the sidewalk less road with some sort of pack or bag strapped to it.

"What the Jimmy John Hell was that!" Morley exclaimed, waking up Carl, who was dozing in the front passenger seat. He (Morley that is) had never noticed anything like the thing he just passed on any of the backcountry roads that he usually traversed in his $75,000 diesel beauty.

"I think'er was one of them pedestrians," mumbled Carl, his voice still masked with drowsiness. "I hear they're pretty common round these parts."

"Pedes'trian?" responded Morley with more than a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "What the Francis May Baker heck is that?... You speaking French Carl?"

"I dunno," shrugged Carl and he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Morely drove on in silence, all the while thinking to himself that the next time he was in the city he had to go to the library or something and look up "them pedestrians" in the encyclopedia... Or, decided Morely brilliantly, he could call up his sister the school teacher and she could tell him what a pedestrian was.