This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... cc&d magazine (v217) (the February 2011 Issue)		Order this issue from our printer as an ISSN# paperback book: or as the ISBN# book “Life... from Nothing”:

Order this writing in the book Literary Town Hall cc&d edition		order the 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 1,000 Words (the 2011 prose collection book)		get the short poem 226 page collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Parking Lot, 9:44 p.m.

Mark Bohm

    The panhandler calls out to us, says his car is at the nearby gas station, in front of pump number one, out of gas. Tells us he needs four gallons to get back home. June rolls her eyes, keeps walking toward the food store. Panhandler keeps talking. From out of town, New Jersey, works construction there. Staying with his grandmother in Palm Beach, on vacation. Drove to Lauderdale to meet friends but he’s been stood up. Obviously bullshit. But the guy is young, just a kid, maybe early-twenties, with a flop of friendly black curls, and eyes with an innocent shine. Says he’s embarrassed to be asking, also bullshit probably, but he sounds distressed. I take a few steps back to the car, dig around for change, feel June’s annoyance pressing without having to look, ask what kind of car he drives, he says it’s a Chevy four wheel drive. Give him a little more than a buck in quarters and dimes, tell him I’m not going to be able to give enough for four gallons, he says didn’t expect that much, and thanks, god bless, all that. I figure grocery parking lot has plenty of cars, steady stream of customers, he’ll gather a few bucks in no time and be off.
    In the store start thinking about the kid, then how absent minded my son can be. Liable to lose anything on any day. Once walked halfway to school before realizing he forgot his shoes. I say to June, could be our son one day who runs out of gas in a strange town without money on him. That bum out there doesn’t need gas, June says. That bum’s gonna collect a few bucks, buy the cheapest forty proof something he can find, and his night’s a success.
    Didn’t look like that kind of experienced street crawler, I say, and June says, that just proves how good he is. And I think, sure hope if my boy needs a few dollars for gas one day, he runs across a guy more generous than me.
    Out of the store, twenty-five minutes later, walking to the car, June pushes the food laden cart, panhandler starts walking behind. Still hasn’t collected enough. Sir, he says. Yah. Oh it’s you, he says, recognizing the face, I already asked you, sorry, thanks again for helping me. Kid retreats to the sidewalk, we stuff bag after bag into the trunk.
    June and I drive off. I look east toward the corner gas station, see a black Chevy four wheel drive pickup parked at pump number one, door shut, no one inside, no one around it.
    Turn back to the store parking lot, find the kid, hold a ten dollar bill out the window. Oh thanks so very much, and god bless, all that.
    June says I’m the king of all suckers, I’ve been scammed. I tell her if it was a scam, it’s a sad world, and if it wasn’t a scam, it’s a sad world.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...