Help From High Places

The painful bounces coming clearly through to my back told me we’d left well kept city roads, and this car’s shocks had seen better days. The pungent aroma of youthful rebellion told me I was not in the hands of professionals.

“Oy, he’s awake,” yelled a nasal voice. A mop of curly, brown hair twisted around to show an eager face behind rainbow-framed glasses.

Though I meant to eloquently inquire as to my situation, the actual statement approximated, “Huh-guhloo….er, koff?”

“Take it easy,” soothed the young man in rainbow glasses, “We found you in the parking garage, and we…um…”

With boisterous voice the driver called back, “We figured if we helped you out maybe you would buy us some weed!” A smirk wormed its way over my face, and the tension left my body.

A glassy eyed woman three shades off from being passably cute turned in the passenger seat, “So, you, um, got money for weed, huh?”

I rasped, “My briefcase?”

Rainbow glasses produced it from the floor with a grin, and I grinned back.

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