Christmas Pontiac (Part 1)

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It was ten past six on a blustery Tuesday morning when I saw a car parked on the curb by my home.  Guessing it was a neighbor’s guest, I dismissed the vehicle’s placement as one of those occasional suburban occurrences.  This appeared to be the case, for when I arrived home from lunch, someone had moved the car.  The next morning, however, the car was once again parked on my curb, slightly on my grass.  I looked to see which neighbor had a full driveway, but all had at least one vacancy.  It seemed rather impolite to park on my lawn when they had space.  I resolved that if it happened again, I would mention it to my neighbors and request they not use my property for their overflow parking..
The following day, the same thing occurred.  There sat the car, just as before.  I took a closer look and saw that it was an old Pontiac Lemanz, possibly from the seventies.  The pigment of the green paint had hazed over long before and its rusted bottom was filled with holes.  It had to belong to some kid.
My thinking was flawed, however, as I discovered when I approached the Pontiac.  When I peeked inside, I saw an old man with a white beard.  He wore a Santa Clause outfit while he slept in the back seat.  Some vagrant was squatting on my property!
I knocked on the glass.  The old man stirred.  He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.  As soon as he looked at my face, he nodded his head and put up his hand.  The old bum knew he was caught.  Rolling out of the back seat, he exited the opposite side of the car and tried to open the driver’s door.  It was locked.  His pocket jingled as he fumbled in it.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said as he dropped his keys on the ground.  He quickly stooped to pick them up and banged his head on the door.  A small trickle of blood dripped down his balding forehead.  As he opened the door and got in, I felt guilty.  I knocked on the window.  He rolled it down slightly and gazed at me with a furrowed brow.  The smell of unwashed vagabond filled my nostrils and I nearly winced.
“You have blood on your head,” I said.

He wiped his head and looked at his red fingers.  “Yes, I do.  May I go now?”
“Would you like a bandage or something?”
“No that won’t be necessary.”
“You’re sure?”
“I will be fine, but thank you.”  His proper speech threw me for a moment.  He sounded more like a college professor than a bum.
“So are you working as Santa Claus nearby?”
“No, this was just the warmest thing I could find.  Some Santa must have procured an upgrade.”
“Are you from around here?”
“No, are you?”  I found that a rather odd question, considering he was in my driveway, but I answered politely.
“Yes, I’ve lived here since high school.”
“That is very nice.  Is there anything else?”
“No.”  As he started the knocking engine and rolled up the window, I could not help myself.  I tapped on the window.  “Would you like some coffee before you go?”  The old man stared straight ahead in deep thought.  He turned off the motor and eased out of the car.
“That sounds delightful,” he replied with a smile.

 

(To Be Continued)

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3 responses to this post.

  1. Where is the rest?

    Reply

  2. I am anxiously anticipating the rest …lol

    Reply

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