I liked to have died

I liked to have died like an American tonight driving home from band rehearsal in big city Nashville. A 2x4 came spinning out of the night on I-40 East. It glided under the wheels, slapped the underside of my car by the drivers seat. The 2x4 jolted me into a moment of blank mental stillness – a calm awareness. My first zen thought was, I didn't wet my pants. My car gas light was fired up orange with 18 miles to gas and a cheeseburger. I already had to pee bad and now slapped in the ass by a 2x4 of death, I now have a lot on my mind. At the gas station, the credit card reader was down. I prepaid a $20 and refused to take a pee until the tank was as full as my bladder. It was a macho act. Men hold it too long for a small reason, a reserved release can feel as good as the honest love of a good woman. I rewarded myself with a fish burger with cheese thinking it was more virtuous than a cheeseburger. Order filled, I discovered the ketchup squirting bottle was empty. I had to use bothersome plastic ketchup packs. Annoyed at the inconvenience, I take extra ketchup packs to put under the car tires when I leave.