Memento

Predator Press

[LOBO]

It struck me while visiting a friend this weekend how apparent one’s personal philosophy can be when looking for the clues. In stark contrast to my place, I observed walls peppered with pictures of loved ones. Family heirlooms abound. Antiques. Home entertainment systems and trendy furniture.

Souveniers.

Personal treasures.

And I remember something.

One day, on my way to work, a man on foot ran across the busy, speeding highway to retrieve his errant hubcap. Heavyset, tall, and about my age, I could see his dumbass sheepish smile.

But somehow, the truck behind me did not.

It swung around to pass me, and in my rearview, I saw it blow the foolish pedestrian into many unrecognizable pieces like a child’s doll. The truck jackknifed across the highway, and I would be among the last cars to pass for several hours.

It was amazingly horrible. I don’t know how I got the car over to the shoulder safely.

I do not keep objects of sentiment.

Especially fucking hubcaps.