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| - I woke up on the floor again. How did I get there? Was it the booze? The pain killers? The 99 cent Jack in the Box tacos? It could've been any of these things.
Or maybe I had just dozed off while looking under the couch. Ever since she walked out that door, I hadn't had a reason to go back to bed. Such a cold, lonely place it had become without her warm breath pouring over me like all those showers I was too busy to take. But I knew she'd be back. We were star-crossed. At least that's what some gypsy in Bangladesh said. And word on the street is they're pretty reliable about these things.
I slumped into my piece of junk Ford Escort and drove it up to Joe's Auto. I could tell it needed to be looked at. Something was wrong. They say cars are like dames. I'm not sure exactly how. I mean, I'm sure you could make the connection, you know, between a beautiful woman and a Honda Accord, if you didn't mine being slapped in the face. Personally I like a little fight in a woman. That's probably why they don't let me hang around the strip joints anymore.
I stepped inside Joe's and found Ol' Mac behind the counter. Now, Joe's wasn't the first place you took your car to. The mechanics were shady, the pricing was so-so, and the vending machines still had the same candy bars in them from when they were first installed. What is the shelf like of a Payday, anyway?
I came here because me and Ol' Mac went way back. So far back I'm not sure what started it. I think it had something to do with my dad saving his brother's life while they were in the war or something. To be honest I'd rather not know. My father once shook hands with President Bush. I hate to think of how many people he had to choke out for that privilege.
Whatever the case, Ol' Mac took care of me. He knew the score. He knew I wasn't going to put up with paying extra just because some mechanic found a more scenic route to my transmission.
I laid my keys on the counter.
"The usual, Mac."
Mac looked at me with a wry grin.
"And what's that again?"
"The usual" was an oil change, a power steering flush, and a tune-up.
Ol' Mac knew that. I had been coming there for years. I paid in cash. I even left the occasional tip. I had stuck around, even after everyone else started going to Big O or Purcell. I was a patron. A regular. There'd be no way he would've forgotten.
And that's when I realized that the man behind the counter was THE IMPOSTOR!
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