Xanga-September 9, 1005

This is part one of this story. Its not one of the 'published monologues' as Justin called something else I posted. This is a true short story. I don't know when I'll post the rest.  Sorry.

In Wait

            Harry, who had turned 53 only three weeks prior, had been born into his job. There were certain jobs for which one’s size and intelligence limits one to do. Harry’s size, which was large and his intelligence which was small, had limited his options. The job he had picked was that of truck driver.

            When Harry walked literally into any place there was no mistaking his career choice. He was an imposing figure-tall and heavy seat with a loud, deep voice. He thought nothing of the normal truck driver attire and wore it as if it was a uniform-black boots, jeans, t-shirt in summer, flannel in winter, and ball cap with the trucking company’s logo on it. His face was generally unshaven with silver stubble showing and his teeth weren’t the best; all-in-all Harry was quite the role model for truck drivers everywhere.

            Harry’s stomach began to make the grumbling-gurgling that he knew was a bad sign as he up shifted. He winced and though back two hours to the dinner he had at this greasy spoon outside of Grand Island-Rosie’s Café. It was required for him to stop there whenever he was on I-80.

            Rosie’s was quiet like most greasy spoons truck drivers ate at. Large servings of hot greasy food, the type that would flip your stomach if you weren’t used to it and most importantly good talk. Always someone with a good story to tell which was important now as CBs seemed antique and outdated.

[EDIT-Originally published to Blogger on 9/24/11.]