Here is another.
I was a student again in my old high school. Not as a teenager, but as a thirty-six year old. I had golf lessons first thing in the morning, then math and English and history. As time went on, I was only going to golf lessons. I had forgotten I had other classes at all. I would spend the rest of the school day goofing off talking to teachers and administrators. It got towards the end of the school year and I remembered the other classes I was supposed to be in. There was a moment of panic until I remembered that I already have my high school diploma, a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree. I said “Fuck it, I don’t need this anyways,” and I left for my Great Grandmother’s house in town.
Great Grandma’s house had been turned into a bar, so I sat in the kitchen and played Pub Quiz Night with my team, which consisted of people from my hometown. Brother K was there, but playing for a different team.
It was time to go to a different bar to celebrate our victory, so I went to my car parked on the grass in the driveway. I pulled the key out of my pocket, but the switchblade key had snapped in half. I debated whether to try to use it. I determined it was long enough I could pull it out of the steering column again, so I put it in and barely managed to turn it.
The car cranked, but didn’t start. My starter is going bad (in real life too) and so it wouldn’t catch.
I woke up thinking maybe I should get my starter fixed before I get stranded somewhere, especially since I downgraded my AAA membership yesterday. Also in my mail pile was a giving reminder from my high school.
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