Auto Repair at 8 o'clock

"You can have your

boyfriend or your dad or

whoever install it"

Well, I have neither and neither here

and ate aside again at the Indian

restaurant across from the theatre. Then

I watched a film about Bettie Page and

felt embarrassed that I had watched it

aside also and had similar black

hair, the way that she did not choose

the laces and corsets and boots

and poses but let them shoot her anyway,

the way that I would not, bothered

me for a while, while I was waiting for the

engine to stop humming. Stop looking

this way and opening your windows to make

sure it's not yours because it's not.

It's mine. Mine has the problem, mine

has the noise leaking from the hole that I

bought from the man who could not install

it. A more willing, greasy one who had

the necessary tools installed it instead, and

when I asked him how much I should pay him,

he said

"Don't worry about it"

The sweet, better words of one

who I could not leave without exchange so

I gave him the tool that I had bought from the

first man.

And after I watched the film, watched the

way that she was acted like a child and yet

had the robust and figure of a free

believing woman with a spite past, I

felt uneasy. I just wanted to

go back home and not

speak much about the hectic day.

She would pose and

turn and silly it like it

did not mean much, like no

one would mind it.

(And then I

drove behind a man who

was dancing, then

changed lanes when he could

have heard the sound coming from my

front. Just fix this, just fix

this please)