All In Mid-August

  ***

  Stephen Trombley

  August 15, Thursday, 15:00

  The Fair began at seven in the evening. Street vendors with their stalls, dances, food stalls, and entertainment on the stage mounted in the center of piazza. Trombley expect many customers in the store in the afternoon. He wanted to prepare fresh sandwiches with ham and cheese, so, without even lower the blind, to fifteen was already in the car and in the vicinity of his shop. In front of his shop window the street was clear out, at that time, with the infernal heat, there was none. He pulled over to the curb and slipped into reverse to park better. Someone was there though; there was this shady individual he knew only too well. He waved. What was he doing in front of his shop window? He had not done enough already? He did not realize that it was only a measly? He did not think more, the foot pushed deep into the accelerator, and the car jumped in behind scoured . The window shattered, trays of tortellini soup and imperial, noodles and noodles bounced into the air and scattered on the floor, along with plastic bumpers and taillights. Brawn, cheeses, sausages, they were hung dangling between inside and outside the store over the gap of the window. Stephen bounced forward, took shelter with his hands as he slammed her face against the steering wheel. The packaging of canapes with ham and mayonnaise that had rested on the seat right on the mat and slipped between the pedals. "What have I done" She was crying. His legs were shaking. He had the courage to get out of the car. You could see the scene in front of the old crushed between his coupe and its showcase. Rearview mirror right tried the trail of blood down the slope of the sidewalk. The sidewalk was clean. He got out and looked at it. Behind, under, even beyond the window that the blow had not thrown inside, toward the back. There was none. The window and its contents were completely gone to air. It was a crowd of onlookers. Someone had called the firefighters, the town hall was on the other side of the square. He arrived in a bicycle traffic warden. Stephen said that he had slipped his foot during the maneuver. He had pressed the accelerator instead of the brake. He had a fine. He began counting the damage.