Return to Elsewhere
Published July 21st, 2010 | 
George stood in front of the gas station icing the cut on his forehead and staring at the flickering sign that read "Chicago auto repair".
"Like my new sign?" Horace asked.
George, still dizzy from hitting the dashboard, replied, "Am I in Chicago? This doesn’t look like Chicago."
"Chicago? No, this ain’t Chicago."
"I’m from Chicago originally."
"We all from someplace."
George’s Toyota Corolla had ended up in a ditch. George couldn’t remember how that had happened. He woke up with a gash on his head and a headache.
"How bad’s my car?"
Horace looked at it and shrugged. "The water pump for certain. But that’s the least of your worries. The whole front end real bad. Don’t know if it can be fixed. Right now, what you need is for that head wound to get looked at."
"Is there a hospital around here?"
"Nope. But there’s a veterinarian up the road a piece. Doc might be able to fix you up."
Horace snapped his fingers and a small man came out of the office. "Diego," Horace called, "take this man to see Doc."
Diego and George got into a rusty old pickup truck. Horace lit a cigarette. The sign flickered and changed. It now read: "Newark auto repair". A heavyset man on a Harley pulled into the garage.
Two customers in one day," Horace thought. "Things are looking up."
