Writing with 3 separate phrases - Mike P

 Writing with 3 separate and distinct phrases

Ice cream headache times ten. Another Nor’easter whistling in off

Lake Erie. You try shaking off the cold, but it blows right through

you. If it wasn’t for the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame, I have no idea

why I‘d live in this godforsaken cesspool of a town. But no sense

complaining about my lot in life. I’m the freakin’ mayor of

Cleveland, Ohio and until the voters see otherwise, I’m the man

who cuts the ribbons, poses with the scout groups, and chairs the

dysfunctional city council.

Today I’m heading northeast for mayors’ conference. It’s just a

short hop between Cleveland and Buffalo; and normally I’d

grab a puddle-jumper and be there inside of an hour. But the

weather’s grounded all air traffic. As a result, I scraped the ice

from the windshield of my aging Ford F-150 and, crawled up into

the cab, and fired it up. The gol dang “check engine” light came

on. Probably just a suggestion for maintenance. Next week I’ll

run it by Bernie Kosar Ford and let the boys take a peek at it.

Just to feel good, I went ahead and stuck some duct tape over the

light…because what you can’t see, can’t hurt you. Right?

So far so good. I’m about 75 miles from Buffalo, which means I’m

20 miles south of nowhere. Dagnabbit, who knew? So maybe

what we can’t see can, in fact, hurt us! You guessed it, black

smoke crawling out from under my hood. The old girl started

clicking and clacking like cousin Skeeter’s false teeth.

I eased to the shoulder of the county two-lane where she ground

to a halt…dead as disco and going nowhere in a hurry. I reached

for my cell to call for help. Yah, you know the story---no service.

No service, no AAA tow, no help. I started to laugh, which makes

absolutely no sense. Night is coming, the wind is howling, the

snow is falling and I’m up the creek with no paddle. I figured I

was only about 3 miles from an exit with a service station. If I

could just get there. So, having read that laughter is one’s inner

jogging, I piled out the truck, pulled up my coat collar and smiled

as I looked down. Yep, I was wearing my brand spanking new

New Balance sneakers! I might just make it. If I catch a break.

I’d only gotten about three-quarter of a mile. My feet were

uncomfortably numb, my nose looked like Rudolph’s, and the

ache in my chest made me think one thought: widow maker. Just

when it seemed darkest before the dawn (every paper needs a 7 th

grade cliché in it), a Cadillac rumbled up next to me. It was

Steve Plissken, councilman from the 4 th district. I always hated

that low-life snake, that self-centered, smug bastard. But today he

was an angel. He was my angel and here to save my keister. He

rolled down the passenger window and smirked. “So, how’s it

going, mayor?” I paused and thought, ‘how the hell do you think

it’s going, you freakin’ jerk.’ “Truck broke down, you’re a life

saver, Steverino, old friend….you’re my salvation, man.”

Plssken wore a, s-eatin’ grin and cackled, “There’s a Brian Snipe

Sunoco about 2 miles straight ahead, mayor. Figuring, If you

double-time, you’ll make it….maybe.” Before I could speak, up

went the window and off went his Cadillac. Left shaking my head

I knew that when the character of a man is not clear, look at

his friends. Where did I read that? Where did that come from?

What the heck does it even mean? Maybe it’s the numbing brain

freeze that’s got me babbling such gibberish. My face went

numb, and my feet left my body. I closed my eyes.

The next day the Cleveland Plain Dealer reported in part, “mayor

frozen, found stiff as a board, head-first in a snowbank on a

remote county highway; shoes in pristine condition. Councilman

Plissken to be named acting mayor today.”