MAMA SAID EAT YOUR VEGETABLES

Johnny was riding his ten speed home from a long day of studying in the basement of the library. Down there he can concentrate, down among the dusty old books and the fluorescent bulbs. If he can just ace these tests … get out from under this bad air and plunge headlong into some freshly air conditioned classroom on a leafy campus with Priuses and Saabs in the parking lot, a world hermetically sealed off against all poverty and desperation. It was just on the twilight side of dusk, and the setting sun cast razorblades of light between the buildings and through the trees. Every so often a car would pass him on the left, parked cars to his right. There’s not much room to maneuver but Johnny navigates along well. As he’s racing along, he spots massive cut in the asphalt. It’s a mean, ugly looking depression in the road, roughly the shape of the state of Oklahoma. There’s not way to avoid it, and his front tire jams into it at speed, sending Johnny down to the ground. He is dazed for a moment as he takes inventory over his person. “You alright kid?” somebody asks. He puts his hand to his head – seems OK. He runs his tongue along his teeth – they all seem to be in good order. Then he looks at his hands. Reflexively as he fell he threw them out to break his fall, and they’ve taken the brunt of the force. Flaps of sticky red skin hang from his palms and bits of grit and broken glass have worked their way deep inside. Then Johnny’s stomach drops as he notices that his right wrist hangs askew. Shit! He slips his backpack off of his sweat-soaked shirt. He’s right-handed and the big test is in two days. As the sun sets the city closes in like a vice.
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