Two middle-aged men sat on a curb by a gas station in late evening. Their heads tracked the varied cars as they slid in and around, stopped, refueled and merged away.

The slightly younger of the two turned to the other and said, "you know I can't sit like this so long, Paul."

"Why?"

"I told you, Paul"

"Oh… sure…" Paul kept his eyes on the cars.

"You know, Paul, I can't sit like this too much longer! I told you why… my doc says my prostate's inflamed on account'a all this sittin' we been doin on this 'ere concrete!" the slightly younger man said. "Can't we at least get some chairs?"

"You got chairs?"

"No…"

"Well shut up then." Paul glanced up, towards puffy clouds darkening in the east, then checked his wristwatch. "Besides, who told you that? That Doctor Martinez or Chavez whatever? You know he doesn't know you." Without looking, Paul pointed to the canvas bag behind him. "All you need is more citrus in your diet."

"There you go with the citrus again, always the citrus Paul. Paul! All we eat is citrus. And surely you know I ain't seen Doctor Hernandez since some *thirty years* ago. I stopped seein' him on yer accountin' he was poisonin' me! Anyway, my new doc is a very pretty lady, you'd like her Paul, and she says citrus and its *acidity* makes my prostate worse. She told me to stop eating all that citrus you steal."

"I ain't no thief, Lenny." Paul turned and looked Lenny in the eyes.

"Oh sure then what we doin' here?"

"Waitin'."

"Right, right…"

"I ain't no thief."

Lenny was silent. They turned back to the cars. Right then, an antique, shiny red Chevy swung into the station and the men leaned forward, squinting.

Lenny bunched up his face. "Wrong year."

Paul snorted. "Wrong make."

Lenny sighed loudly and wringed his hands. "We need chairs."

"I say again do we got any fuckin' chairs Lenny?"

Lenny looked around. His gaze stopped on the canvas sack. "All we gots these goddamn tangerines and the books."

"Gimme one."

"A tangerine? Or a book?"

"A book. We just ate."

"Oh yeah." Lenny thought a moment. "If you read, then what'll I do?"

"I don't care. Why don't you sit on 'em."

Lenny considered the sack. "I don't wanna ruin the tangerines." He leaned over and began pulling tangerines out of the sack and setting them on the cement. "…Which book you want?"

"I don't care."

Pulling tangerines with one hand, Lenny brought out a book with the other and held it behind his back, waiting for Paul to grab it. "Paul, take the book."

Paul looked at the book. "I don't want that one."

Lenny was still carefully pulling and stacking tangerines. "Why not?"

"Too long."

Lenny shook the book. "Oh take the goddamn book, Paul. You never finish anythin' I give you anyway. I'll tell you how it goes."

Paul took the book and looked over the cover.

Having emptied the sack of its tangerines, Lenny dragged it to where he was sitting and patted at the books inside, arranging them into a seat.

Paul turned the book over.

Turning back to the station, Lenny sat down carefully, shifted, got up, patted his seat some more and sat back down. His eyes unfocused as he concentrated, working his weight gently into the canvas sack.

Paul held the book out towards Lenny. "I don't want it."

Lenny readily snatched the book from Paul's hand and read the title loudly, emphasizing each word. "War and Peace! Aww c'mon Paul, this 'ere's one of the greats! You gotta read it at least once in your life."

"You say that about every book."

"Every book in that *sack*. That's why they're in there in the first place. Just give it a chance." Lenny held the book back to Paul.

"I ain't gonna read none your red tide propaganda, Lenny. I got nothing to learn from those fuckin' Russkies."

Lenny scoffed. "Paul, everyone knows Tolstoy din't giveadamn bout the *economic theories* of his contemporaries, the ones that make people like you shake in their boots. He writes about *people*."

"You know how I feel about *people*."

Lenny sighed, got up, situated the book strategically in the sack, and sat back down in the exact same manner as before. After he settled himself, he said, "you know, Pa loved Tolstoy. That was his copy."

"I know." Paul kept watching the cars. "Every book in there is Dad's."

"I remember Pa tellin' me how Gandhi was inspired by Tolstoy and his theories of non-violence."

"Uh huh."

"I like to think we're what Tolstoy wanted: simple people leadin' rich lives."

"Sure."

The pair was silent. An unmuffled car accelerated out of the gas station. Dusk was descending, and the gas station's lights turned on. The lot shone amid the small town and the refuelling cars were iridescent.

Lenny began fidgeting and glancing at the men's bathroom door on the near wall of the gas station mart.

Paul sat in silence.

Lenny crossed and uncrossed his legs every so often, swapping which leg cinched over the other. Eventually, he sprang to his feet. "Paul I gotta go to the bathroom I'll be back."

Unmoved, Paul kept watching the cars.

Lenny walked toward the door he'd been eyeing.

Paul's eyes widened, then narrowed with a sudden fury at a red car approaching in the distance. Slowly, his most prominent wrinkles curved and deepened, and determination set in his face.

Lenny reached the bathroom door and stopped right before it. He took a deep breath, held it, and flung the door in with the toe of his shoe. Hastily undoing his pants, he quick-stepped across sticky tile to a urinal, where he urinated head back, eyes closed, and slowly exhaling. He maintained his exhalation while returning to the door and redoing his pants.

Paul leaned forward as the car, a vintage Ford, neared the station, slowed haltingly, and swung its boxy bulk into the lot. It turned aggressively, accelerating until a hard stop by the pump nearest to Paul. The engine cut. Paul watched a stocky, fat old man in a Hawaiian shirt pull himself out of the driver's side. The man drew a cane from the car and hunched over his swelling gut as he wobbled into the mart.

Lenny exited the bathroom and sharply inhaled after the door slammed behind him. He looked for Paul and saw him beelining across the lot towards the red car. Lenny looked at the car, then at the sack Paul had abandoned and then back at Paul. Lenny ran to the sack, yelling, "Paul! The sack!"

Paul didn't hear Lenny over the stomping of his steel-toed boots. When he reached the car, Paul yanked open the driver door and ducked into the well under the steering wheel. He pulled a handful of tools from his jacket and popped a cover that protected bright, clean, color-coded wires. He cut a red and a white wire, stripped the wires, and crossed their copper.

As Lenny was putting the tangerines back in the sack, he heard the car start and let out a yelp. He heaved the sack up and onto his back, spilling some tangerines in the process, and abandoned most of the pile as he ran for the car. The car pulled away as Lenny neared, and Lenny sprinted after the passenger door. The car suddenly braked for the traffic on the main road and Lenny and the sack crashed into the passenger door. Gasping, Lenny opened it and collapsed into the seat with the sack on his lap.

Just then Paul saw a small opening and launched the car left, cutting across the stream of traffic and causing the passenger door to fling wide. Horns sounded and tires squealed. Lenny held himself hard into his seat, clutching the bottom of the sack between his thighs and screeching as loose books and tangerines flew into the street. Then Paul banked the car to make a sharp right, slamming Lenny's door shut, and accelerated east down an empty road. The car roared into the twilight.

Lenny hyperventilated as the acceleration pressed him deeper into his seat.

Only when they passed the town's limits did Paul ease off the gas.

Lenny buckled himself in and began to calm down. When his breathing had mostly slowed, he glanced over and examined Paul. "You should buckle up, Paul."

Paul kept driving in silence.

Lenny resumed his usual fidgeting, watching the road ahead. "I hope Pa don't need his car."

"It's my car." Paul's eyes were fixed where the straight, dark pavement met the purple sky.

Lenny sighed. "Well, at least he got some of his books back."

Paul grinned. His face relaxed for the first time since he had sighted the car; his jaw unclenched and his eyes lost their tension. He turned on the radio and rolled down the windows, and warm night air rushed through the cabin. He let his elbow droop out the window and reclined his seat a notch. Unconsciously, Paul stroked the inside of the steering wheel with his thumb, where a pattern of wear was worn into the supple leather.

After a while, Lenny leaned his head out and twisted in his seat to rest his left ear on the door. He watched the road behind them speed away.

"Gimme a tangerine."

Lenny didn't hear Paul through the wind rushing in his ears.

"Lenny!"

Lenny started and untwisted to sit normally. "Yeah Paul?"

"Any more tangerines in that sack?"

"Not sure…" Lenny dug through the sack between his feet. "Nope."

"Then we'll be stoppin' soon. Good fruit market comin' up with easy pickin's." They were passing through another small town.

"Can't we have something other'n citrus just this once?" Lenny whined. "I'm starved. Let's pay for somethin' good."

Paul didn't respond.

Lenny sighed. "I don't think you learned anythin' from Pa but to eat citrus."

"That's the one thing Pa knew right. Keeps you healthy."

"Sure, sure, Paul, Pa knows health. He's the spittin' image of it!" Lenny rolled his eyes.

A moment went by and Paul's thumb stopped stroking. "Fine."

He turned the car into the next restaurant. It was a diner with broad windows, its inside bright, simple and obvious to the drivers passing in the night. A group of customers sat in a booth and an outfitted waitress poured them coffee. A tall man in a cook's apron stooped over a griddle behind the counter.

"Oh boy Paul! I love Waffle House!" Lenny craned his head out the window to peer up at the restaurant's lighted sign as they passed under it.

"It looks like a fishbowl." Paul braked gently into the parking spot directly in front of the entrance and turned the car off.

The two men got out of the car and went inside. They were welcomed by the cook and waitress and took a seat at the counter.

The waitress came over with coffee. "Coffee?"

"Orange juice." Paul stated.

Lenny eyed the pitch-black coffee eagerly and licked his lips. "No… thank you." The waitress seemed confused. "Doc's orders."

The waitress filled a glass of orange juice and brought it back with menus. They ordered food and the waitress went away.

"I think Pa's gonna want the car back." Lenny asked, tracking Paul's orange juice as he raised it to his lips.

"I ain't lettin' that fat bastard touch it again." Paul took a big gulp.

"It was…" Lenny watched the tall cook flip a hamburger patty and press it into the griddle. "It was his car once, though. An' he paid for all the parts to get it back runnin'."

"Lenny we've had this talk some fifty times now. I rebuilt it. I got it runnin' and I *kept* it runnin'. He didn't do nothin' to help, and not one part he paid for is still in that car. Hell, I've been drivin' it for the past 45 years and the title's in my name! You know that!" Paul took a breath, his face relaxed, and he took another sip. He looked at Lenny. "Suddenly, he steals it just to screw me an' show it off to all his old fucker church friends on Sundays. It's mine."

"I dunno… Pa seemed like he really thought the car was his! Maybe we should talk to him an' figure out who really owns what."

Paul watched the cook's back. "There ain't nothin' to talk about."

Lenny stared off into an imagined distance. "Oh who am I to say what's who's anyhow. I'm hungry."

The cook turned from the griddle with their orders. He set blueberry waffles smothered in whipped cream in front of Lenny and a cheeseburger and fries in front of Paul. He went back to work over the griddle.

The two men ate in silence, hunched over their food. As they neared the end of their meal, a car door slammed loudly outside, causing Lenny to turn and squint out the window. Lenny's father was looking him straight in the eyes, standing beside a dingy sedan. Anger swelled the man's ruddy, wrinkled face. His broad Hawaiian shirt was lit by the glow from the diner.

"Paul!" Lenny pulled his brother's shoulder. "Pa!"

Paul swallowed his food and turned around. He locked eyes with his father through the window, matching the intensity of his stare.

"Where'd he get that car! Where do we go Paul?! What do we do?!" Lenny looked around the diner and saw a door leading to a back room behind the counter. "Let's go out the back!"

"The car's in front, Lenny. Calm down."

The angry, fat old man waddled into the diner with his cane and stopped in the entryway, still staring down Paul.

Paul didn't say anything. Lenny's face had gone pale.

The man bellowed, "you *boys* have done grave misdeed!" He held his breath and his face puffed even more, turning a deep crimson. "Taking my car! Now just what in *hell* are you thinkin'!" He held his breath again, his face purpling and eyes bulging.

Paul opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

"I expectthis sort from you alone, Paul." He spat out his eldest son's name. "But we've had enough of you impressing your delinquent behavior on yer brother! Turnin' both of you into thieves. You know how yer brother is!"

The fat old man's shouting had been increasing in volume since he entered. The cook and waitress had retreated to the back room, and now the group of customers squeezed by out the front door. Paul and his father were still staring at each other.

Starting to fidget, Lenny turned and saw through the back door's window the cook watching the scene while talking on the phone. Lenny looked back at Paul's face and saw that it was a deeper purple than his father's.

Paul's eyes were enraged, wide and watery. He too had been holding his breath, and he barked through a mouth full of saliva forgotten in anger. "Fuck!… you!" He exhaled, stood up and yanked Lenny out of his chair towards the door.

Their father held his ground.

While pulling Lenny, Paul made to push his father out of the way with his free hand. Suddenly, their father grunted and whipped his cane up and across the side of Paul's head.

"Paul!" Lenny shouted.

Paul crumpled to the ground and Lenny gaped at his brother, then his father.

"Now you know how I hate having to do things like that, Leonard!" His voice seethed. "But someone's got to tame that *boy* and God knows yer mother and I are tryin'." He was sweating bullets and glaring at Lenny.

Lenny backed away slowly. "Why you talkin' bout Ma… Pa?"

His father stepped over Paul and paced toward Lenny. "What do you mean, son? C'mon boy… let's get home."

Just then, a police car with its lights on pulled into the parking spot beside the dingy sedan.

Lenny looked at his father and saw his anger twist into disfigured, pleading smile. His father was panting and his shirt was soaked with sweat.

"…Where'd you get that car, Pa?"

"It's my car, son."

The police officer casually entered the front door and then saw Paul lying on the ground. He quickly unholstered his gun and raised it at Lenny and his father. "Hands up! Separate!"

Lenny's hands shot up.

Lenny's father turned around confused. "There ain't no problem 'ere, officer. I'm simply dealin' with two of my own."

The police officer knelt to check Paul's pulse, gun still pointed at Lenny and his father. "Separate!" He shouted, and pressed a radio on his shoulder. "I need backup and an ambulance. Found the car." He turned back to Lenny and Paul's father. "There is a problem, sir. Why is this man on the floor and why did you steal that car?"

Lenny's father huffed, anger starting to swell his face again. "Excuse me! That's my car!" He pulled out his wallet before the officer could react, and produced a tattered piece of paper. "See?" He held it for the officer to read, hands shaking. "It's the title."

The officer read the title. "Sir, I'm talking about that brown sedan outside. And this title is expired. Why is this man on the ground?"

"Now *why* would you be talking about that car? Listen here, I'm dealin with *my* boys." Lenny's father pointed at the gun. "You need to put that gun away." He walked towards the police officer, reaching to push the gun away. When he got close, the police officer shoved him back. He stumbled over his feet and fell backwards.

When Lenny and Paul's father hit the ground, bone and tile cracked simultaneously. He wailed. "Why'd you do that?!"

Lenny, with his hands up, started edging behind the police officer, who was trying to roll over and handcuff his father.

His father's wailing suddenly became much louder, and Lenny had to cover his ears. "It's another one! Heart attack! Goddamnit! God damn you cop!"

At this, Paul stirred on the ground and sat up. Lenny whispered loudly to Paul. "Paul, the cops! We gotta get outta here."

Paul sat rubbing his head, watching his father yell and clutch at his chest, while the police officer shouted into his radio. He stood up and nodded to his brother.

Paul and Lenny carefully exited the front door. Outside, a siren whined in the distance. They ran towards the car. Midstride, both glanced at the scene on the floor through the windows. Paul made eye contact with his father, and Lenny with the police officer. Lenny sprinted towards the car and Paul was short after.

"Stop!" called the police officer through the window. He was standing up.

Paul and Lenny slammed themselves inside the car and Paul ducked under to hotwire it.

Lenny watched intently. "C'mon Paul!"

"Shut up!" The car roared to life and Paul jammed it into gear just as the police officer appeared in the window with his gun.

Paul reversed and the engine blared. The tires squealed and spun smoke into the air. The police officer fired and Lenny watched the diner's window shatter through the smoke. Three bullets ripped into the front windshield, passed through the space between the brothers, and thunked into the back seat.

Paul turned the car in reverse, backing up fast into the highway. More bullets sounded, but none hit the car.

Lenny looked in the rearview mirror, closed his eyes and braced himself in his seat.

Paul wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right, then left. The fast-moving car swung its weight and spun a half circle, skidding four black arcs into the pavement, and settled speeding the right way down the highway.

"Shit Paul you know I hate when you do that!" Lenny screamed with his eyes shut.

Paul's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel and strained his eyes through the broken windshield and into the night, searching for an off-road to escape from the main highway. Just as police lights illuminated the bend ahead, Paul spotted a dusty off-road, killed his headlights, slowed, and pulled gently into it. The lush trees and kudzu cloaked the red car in shadow. Paul cut the engine.

Both men were panting and sweating. Fog was forming on the inside of the windows. Paul rolled down his window as the sirens sped past behind them.

"Let's go!" Lenny hissed.

"Hang on…" Paul had his eyes closed, listening, waiting for the crackle of tires on gravel behind them. It didn't come.

"Let's go, Paul!" Lenny said again.

Paul hotwired the car again and backed out onto the highway, then kept on driving the way they were going. Cars passed them, and their drivers could briefly be seen gawking at the busted windshield. At his next chance, Paul pulled into another dusty off-road.

"What're ya doin, Paul?"

"We can't be drivin' with the windshield like this." said Paul as he drove down the road. To their right emerged an abandoned barn at one end of a pasture, strangled by kudzu. At the other end of the pasture, a massive house stood with light in every window. Paul clicked off the headlights and engine and coasted off the road, through the pasture and into the maw of the dilapidated barn.

Paul and Lenny got out of the car and walked back towards the highway. The gravel of the road crunched beneath their boots.

"Think Pa'll be alright?" Lenny asked.

"I think Pa wasn't alright to begin with, Lenny." Paul said. "We should forget about him. We can't give him the respect he wants."

"I think he has some dementia, Paul."

"I don't doubt it. Stealin' my car." Paul spat on the ground and it welled in the dust. "Anyways Lenny, we got bigger problems now. We gotta get outta town again and before we do that, fix that windshield."

They had reached the edge of the highway. "If I say hide, if a cop's comin', then jump in that bush there, alright Lenny?" Paul pointed to the thick vegetation that lined the road. Paul stuck out his thumb at a passing car.

Lenny sat on the ground. "Gotta get outta town again…" He leaned his head back and looked up at the stars.