Karl's nutcracker
Frank Foster woke up and got out of bed. He stood up in his bedroom.In the dim light of early morning he thought to himself, "I paid for sex last night."
He went into the bathroom to get ready for work.
After he washed up and got dressed, he put a sandwich from the refigerator into a paper sack and took it with him outside. He started up his most prized posession, a 1970 Oldsmobile 442. It shined in the newborn sun, its chrome capturing his little house and yard and squashing them to fit the curve of the bumper. He loved that car.
It roared to life, bouncing slightly from the sheer torque of all that Detroit steel compressing air and fuel and firing. The sound was like the rumble of God Himself rearranging His furniture.
He hit the gas, and the huge rear tires chirped once, gained purchase, and pushed his driveway and his house away.
He thought about her.
Her smooth brown skin had been so supple and warm as he held her to him, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around her and her soft breasts on his face, and her sex had been like a little mouth, sucking him. He figured he had to be the millionth person to fall in love with her this month, but he was in love with her all the same.
He parked at the shop and went inside.
Karl always got to the shop first and opened up. Karl was the most enthusiastic worker Frank had ever had. His entire life was working on cars. He wasn't much for customer service, but he was energetic and smiling, and he could fix any problem with any car, given the time. He was midly retarded, and had some problems speaking, but he was on time every day and he did good work.
Frank pushed the glass door to the waiting area of the shop open, and saw Karl bending over the innards of a late model Buick in the shop. He crossed the linoleum floor of the waiting room and poked his head into the shop.
"Hi Karl," he said softly.
Karl was so engrossed in the top end of the Buick's powerplant that Frank's soft intrusion on his concentration was enough to startle him deeply. This was a daily occurrence. He jerked upright, narrowly missing cracking his skull on the open hood, dropping his wrench.
The wrench clanged its way to the concrete floor, clattering and banging loudly around the engine bay on the way down.
Karl beamed at Frank. "Hi Fank!" he barked happily.
Frank grinned at him, shook his head, and turned around to go back to his office.
He sat down at his big metal government desk, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes fell on the present Karl had made for him the previous christmas.
It was a piston from a 427 Shelby Cobra, brushed and burnished to a high gleam. Its wrist pin was glued to the skirt and the connecting rod, which stood straight up in the air. The piston was mounted upside down in a shiny metal cylinder with an oval cut in the side.
He opened his desk and took a walnut out of a can in the top drawer. He put the walnut into the oval on the side of the cylinder and withdrew his fingers. The piston smashed down with a crack, opening the nut, and returned to its position.
It was the coolest present he had ever gotten. Karl was truly a wonder of a man.
"Fuck.. cunt!" he heard Karl yelling at the engine in the shop.
Okay, a vulgar wonder of a man.
He ate the nut.
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