St Paul, mid-afternoon. The car is parked quietly on the grass of the lower side. The steering wheel burning sun. The light glow of diesel goes out at the same time as the echo of barking. Can not turn the key. Off. Resuming beginning. It's totally useless, but checking the mechanical point Death is part of the ritual. Insert key, turn a little, wait. Harnessed to the belt. Or look around, since it already has. When the light disappears, continue turning. Oh oh. There is supposed to turn, not block. Quarter turn toward the driver. Take a breath and turn the other way. Immediately. Without it nothing happens. Wait. Begin to summarize the facts to explain the situation to a convenience store. Realize that no numbers for. Congratulate itself for once, took the phone. Retry without believing, straining to hear the form and incredulous engine purr.
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