The Myth of the Breeze

strange thing out here…

Sev­eral months ago I came across an over­turned BMW. Reluc­tantly, I pulled over to scope it out, think­ing that I was about to dis­cover a bloody mess. These roads are trav­eled, but not exten­sively. I imag­ined a man trapped inside, wait­ing to be dis­cov­ered by a passerby.

For­tu­nately, and strangely, there was no one inside. I was a bit con­fused. The car was upside down and the doors were impos­si­ble to open, but it remained rel­a­tively unscathed. The wind­shield was bro­ken, but still in place, and the rest of the win­dows were intact and rolled up. The trunk was locked. I cir­cled the car and won­dered how the hell this guy got out. Where did he go?

I believe he may have sur­faced last night. At 11:00 at night while on my bike ride home Nick and I were asked for direc­tions from a man stand­ing in the mid­dle of the road (with­out a car) sev­eral miles from town, and about 1/4 mile from where the BMW flipped in December.

“Excuse me, do you know how to get to Kid­well Street from here?”

We hes­i­tated, almost unsure if we were in fact being asked for direc­tions out here. Nick got off his bike and I cir­cled slowly in the mid­dle of the road.
We argued briefly as to which streets dead-ended where and whether to turn right or left, but man­aged to give him decent directions.

He seemed a lit­tle dizzied by the sit­u­a­tion (me bik­ing in cir­cles may have aided in that) and as we were leav­ing I asked, “you gonna make it out of here ok?”

“I should be fine,” he said, “My grandma’s com­ing to pick me up.”

If he had been naked it would have been weirder. But alas, he was fully clothed.