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I take another brief pause from the serial tale, “A Summer of Barbaric Shenanigans” to tell a short tale of LOVE that even the roughest heart might appreciate.


Chrome Accented Love    By Gregga J. Johnn

 The Man was a loner at heart; the Woman, the same.

They wandered the auction house with the thumping of their own hearts shutting out the calling and horn-blowing sales of classic cars. There were many other cars on display. So, each wanderer watched their reflection twist and bend in the shiny curves of chrome and designer paint jobs. Tiny smirks of satisfaction played tug of war with stoic lips until at last, the man and the woman made it to that one showcase they came to see.

He approached from the north, eyes glistening in the reflection of passenger side windows.

She arrived from the south. Her breath caught at the sight of open door upholstery.

The man and woman stood before each other with nothing but a single car between them and the universe slowed it’s breathing. As these kindred hearts drew nearer together the friction of energy between them became palpable. A light bulb suddenly flickered off in a random flash of a blown fuse.

He was caught off guard and blinked in the dazzle of beauty he saw before him. She let loose her breath in a gasp of heart wonder.

And they both instantly fell in love… with the car.

There was a family leaking children that hovered about, also, squealing and nattering about the qualities of the dashboard, so the woman turned to the west to gaze in adoration at the gleam of headlights. The man turned east and tuned his inner radio off the station of outer chatter and listened only to his private worship of such glory.

He bowed slightly and gingerly reached out to touch her rear, running his fingertips gently across the smooth duco that curved ever so softly. He might have moaned quietly to himself.

She bent her knees and leaned in with open mouth, breathing a hot breath upon the bumper. Wiping off the greasy fingertips of a passing child, she smiled at the clear reflection of her own widened face.

They circled their love with a restraint of lust found only in public.

Another horn blasted with another sale. The man and woman suddenly remembered where they were and chuckled to themselves. They were such fools in love. They continued their way around the auction house, admiring all the shiny classics. But still, every now and then, they’d glance back to their first love.

He’d look over the top of his chilli-dog and hide a smile in the steaming lumps of meat that he devoured in familiar flavor.

She’d glance over her shoulder, sipping a big gulp with lips pursed in secret kisses.

But when the day was all said and done, the man returned to his sparse apartment where he cooked up a box of mac’n’cheese that he had on hand. She, too, cooked up her own cheesy mac in a lonely little, hill-top house.

They sat, as if one, before the TV and scrolled to the next movie on their watch list. And as the classic Nicolas Cage movie began, both man and woman cracked a beer in separate houses, with simple dinner on laps, and sighed in unison,

“Ahhh, Eleanor.”

Thus, the lovers continued, much satisfied in their distraction of chrome accented love, never aware the other existed. And the universe shook her head in an amused sigh and carried on with the night.


Eleanor from the classic Nicolas Cage movie, Gone in 60 Seconds.