A Host of Issues

Driving down washington st. Four grimy lanes bordered by strip malls and government assisted housing. Crackwhores withering in the sun. Men with shifty eyes and sagging sweatpants standing in gas station parking lots. The car in front of me swerves to reveal a detached hubcab rolling down the street. I hit it head on and it shatters under my car. A flapping sound, I think a tire has popped. When I pull over I see that the tire is fine, but the hubcab has broken the rusted splash guard. It hangs lower and scrapes the ground when I turn or back up.

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