The Car
Darley Street
Ep 1 - The Car - Season Three
By Steve Gray
Wednesday, eleven am, a beat-up small silver sedan that has seen much better days ‘stumbles’ into a parking spot outside the bakery, it rolls to a stop, a trail of oil follows and is now leaching onto the bitumen.
The car went, bang, then clunk. Further up the street, the male and female occupants feared the worst and pulled into the nearest parking spot they could find. It happened to be a double spot, so they could roll into one spot without having to reverse, because the engine had stopped.
The twenty-something dishevelled pair got out, and the guy cursed, ‘Feck! The engine’s shot! Look at all the oil… Well, that’s stuffed. She, on the other hand, stood to one side and said, ' So what do we do now? Can’t get to work on time, not enough money to pay to get it fixed, what do we do? He’s on his knees trying to figure out how bad things are, then pops the bonnet and has a further look. Then says, ‘Nah, she's stuffed, there’s a hole in the side of the engine block and the oil and coolant stuff has gone everywhere. Sell it for scrap and get another one from somewhere.’
Trish in the bakery is now looking out to see what the fuss is all about. Gina had a quick glance and said, ‘Looks like they cooked it…’
The pair emptied the car of the few belongings they had and headed off down the street to catch the bus. Two days later a tow truck turned up and carted the wreck away. All that was left was a big patch of oil. Most of the oil had been washed into the drain by recent rain. The council would not be impressed.
Trish poked her head out and chatted to the tow truck driver about the oil, he said it needed some degreaser and a wash down, then maybe some sand to soak up what’s left. He was gone as quickly as he had come.
Trish called Kyle. He dropped by a car place and got the degreaser and then a bag of sand from a garden supply store. It took a few goes with the degreaser, but most of the oil was broken up, then the sand did the trick after he washed the areas with a few buckets of water.
It was mainly sorted. Then a council vehicle turned up, they wanted to know about the oil spill. Kyle said it had been there for a few days and now that the vehicle had been towed, the area had been degreased of what was left and therefore sorted. The council guy wasn’t happy, complaining about pollutants in the waterways, etc. No one knew the owner of the car, and no one bothered to get any details from the tow truck driver about where it was going, etc.
The council guy then went off with a look of dismay. Kyle and Trish weren’t too concerned, they just needed the oil to not get into their shop and make a mess.
With the crisis mostly managed, Trish returned to the counter, and Kyle headed home, satisfied with his deed. The remaining sand sat squarely in the parking bay, looking like a tiny, misplaced beach paradise right in the middle of the grey asphalt.
By Friday afternoon, the sun had baked the pavement dry. The sand had done its job of pulling the last remnants of the engine sludge out of the road surface. Trish stared out the bakery window, admiring the clean spot, when a flashy, immaculate black sports car pulled up. The driver, wearing oversized sunglasses and a crisp white linen suit, looked thrilled to find a perfect parking spot right outside the busiest shop on the strip.
Without a care in the world, he swung the car into the bay. He hit the patch of sand perfectly. It was still thick enough to act like marbles under his high-performance tyres. The car skidded slightly, its front wheel coming to a sharp stop against the concrete kerb.
The driver hopped out, unbothered, and walked into the bakery. Bought a single meat pie, flashing a wealthy smile at Trish, before strutting back out to his pristine vehicle.
As he opened the door, a massive gust of wind whipped down the street. It caught the dry, oil-soaked sand from under his wheels and lifted it into a perfect miniature cyclone. Before the man could even blink, the entire cloud of black-tinged, greasy grit blasted directly inside his car, coating his spotless cream leather interior, his dashboard, and the front of his white linen suit in a perfect layer of automotive soot.
Trish and Gina watched from behind the counter as the man stood frozen, his jaw open, looking like he had just cleaned out a sooty chimney.
Gina leaned over the counter and sighed. ‘Well, at least we know the sand works.’
Trish grabbed a bunch of paper towels and gestured to Gina to join her as they headed out to help the man clean up his mess. He was most grateful, but in the end a detailer would have to finish things off in the car. He asked about the sand, the pair denied any knowledge of it as they brushed down his suit.
No two days were the same in Darley Street; people come, and people go. Today was a clean-up that smacked of oily footsteps.
Steve writes, aiming to inspire and/or raise awareness of topics. His poetry can take abstract turns, and his 'Odd Angry Writes' on his website are sure to turn heads with his aggressive approach to topics.
A background in Art and Design, as well as teaching, often gives his written pieces a unique creative perspective.
A bunch of e-books under his belt and some honourable mentions in the Geelong Writers Group, puts his writing in good standing.
