We sat on the curb, wiping our brows.
“The eggs all broke,” Ted said, dejectedly.
We still had more than 10 blocks to go and four heavy brown bags to lug along in the hottest, most humid afternoon we had ever experienced since we had arrived in New York.
The fifth bag was on the pavement, split open, iceberg lettuce, Wonder bread, and smashed eggs making a surrealist’s canvas on the asphalt.
“C’mon,” Ted finally said, “one step at a time.”
He was the optimist, I was the pragmatist.
We collected our cargo and started again uphill.
“You know, we need a car,” Ted puffed.
“Yep, we need a car,” I said, “and money to buy one.”
We walked another block, contemplating the hard side of life.
Suddenly, Miss Penny arrived at our side in a swish, driving her endless soft-top white Buick.
“Boys, boys,” she cried in her high-pitched voice, “you don’t want to walk like this … hop in!”
The Buick swallowed the both of us and the bags effortlessly.
The radio was playing Born To Be Wild.
Miss Penny was singing.
Life was good.