"Are we there yet?" I wondered aloud looking out the window into the mist that had crept closer to the car during the past few minutes. We had drifted into this foggy weather without warning and as it thickened around us, became dense and more complete, we had slowed from our modest 35 miles per hour to an almost imperceptible 5 miles or so on the speedometer.
"We’re here," Jelly said in answer to my wonderment.
"And where exactly is that?" I asked.
"Somewhere remote, I’d say," came his response.
The car lurched to the right, knocking me slightly against the locked door. "What was that?" My voice sounded pinched in this ugly atmosphere.
"Cool." I was going to say something about being observant, but thought better of it before I said it, which was a change for me. I usually speak first, regret afterward.
"We’re not gonna make the gig," Jelly said next.
"I needed that three hundred, bad, man," he told me.
"We gotta get there, man," he whined at me.
"Well, this car’s not going anywhere fast," I said. "And we hit something. We gotta see what we hit. Maybe we did some bad damage. Maybe we got some ourselves."
"You shittin’ me?" he whined. "You espect me to go out in this white shit and see what kind of pokey critter or tree branch we hit in this bad light?"
"I do." I grinned as I said it because the thought hadn’t occurred to me that he should do it, but it had clearly hit him and I sure wasn’t going out there. Still, one of us had to do it. That was clear. I smiled nicely at him this time and nodded approvingly. He just stared at me and longed to call me more names than I cared to hear. We were sitting like that when the girl happened.
"Jay-sus!" Jelly shrieked without even a sharp intake of breath to warn me there was something loud and offensive coming. "Jay-sus H. Kee-ryst!" He was staring ahead and up and pointing, at least pointing as far as you can point sitting in the front seat of a 1972 Volkswagen Bug. And that’s not far.
Standing on the hood, or snout, of the bug we sat in was a pair of female legs, long and fine, sharply defined in this fog by the black fish-net stockings they wore and the three-inch high spike heels that supported them. I couldn’t see where those legs went - a front window on one of these old cars doesn’t give you much vantage on the world above you. The heels, though, were planted about eleven inches apart, slightly favoring the driver’s side of the car and the legs seems to grow toward one another as they angled upward. There was no sign of a skirt of any kind and no end to those stockings. I shoved forward to try and look up, see what connected those legs, what sexual fantasy was about to be made real, but that damned white fog just covered up anything higher than mid-thigh. Talk frustration. I’ll tell you.
I knocked once on the window, but Jelly grabbed my hand before I could make another sound.
"Don’t," he whispered. "She might hear you."
"Well, let her," I said, "What’s she doing there anyways?"
"I don’t want to know," He said. "I do not want to know."
Trouble was, I did want to know. And I didn’t want to wait for long.