The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

ever permitted

with one comment

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Pulsing and pallid, that corpulent jelly which comprises my physical domain and imprisons my conscious mind was carrying me down Jackson Avenue in Long Island City and past the fabled Court Square Diner, whereupon a face melting realization of a recent vehicular disaster confronted me. It would seem that the MTA department of the municipality has one less truck in its fleet roster.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

As painful as it would be for them to encounter a creature such as myself, contact was made with the MTA employees who were vouchsafing the wreck while awaiting a tow vehicle which would secure its disposition.

Note: It isn’t fair to inflict my nauseous presence on the unsuspecting innocents who surround me, nor is it alright to ask them to endure the many disgusting qualities of what might be described as my “vocalizations.” Selfishly, I elected to attempt contact with one of the humans, in an attempt to find out what happened. Apologies offered to all offended parties. Don’t hurt me.

Queries as to the well being of the driver were answered by assurances of continuing good health, but adherence to an institutional policy which required visiting a hospital to professionally confirm and assess said status was obeyed and that was where the driver found himself.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

A smell of refined petroleum derivates hung in the air, and once contact with this clearly shaken employee of the great human hive was reliably completed, my camera found itself employed. Indications offered by that stalwart representative opined that the municipal truck was operated in accordance with traffic regulation, but that another large vehicle was not, which resulted in a collision.

The area is well patrolled by security cameras, one would presume this will be an easy supposition to corroborate thusly.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

The reportage continued that the MTA truck had careened off the second vehicle and the driver lost control of the heavy vehicle. The truck’s wild course carried it away from the equator of the street and in the process it eliminated a metal lamp post and crashed up on the pedestrian lane, known colloquially and conventionally as the sidewalk.

Nervous anticipation nagged at me, as wild paranoid wonderings about sparks falling from the elevated subway tracks mixing with… the petroleum vapors… no… such things do not happen… At this moment, my headphones were back in place and playing through a long list of songs- thats when this random ditty started piping directly into my auditory orifices.

I spun around and started walking toward Astoria in a loose dog trot.

One Response

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  1. The Doors? Yech! What pretentious crap the 60’s could produce. (“Hey Dick, I give it a 0. It’s got no beat, you can’t dance to it, and it makes you vomit.”)

    georgetheatheist . . opining freely

    March 12, 2013 at 1:37 pm


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