As Kenneth eased himself into Melanie's car, he had to carefully position his gray scuffed shoes, that were supposed to polished white everyday, to avoid stepping on the random assortment of tubes and compacts, brushes and hair gels, granola bars and empty water bottles that littered Melanie's car; not to mention a lone left shoe.
"Sorry about the mess Ken, but you should know me by now."
Kenneth nodded, remembering when he first met Melanie he was overwhelmed at the sheer amount of stuff in her car. Melanie had everything from clothes to shoes to belts to the perfect bag to compliment the outfit that was circled in red in the Cosmopolitan that Kenneth mistakenly grabbed while trying to find his seat belt. Kenneth secretly thought to himself that living in Melanie's care would be more luxurious then his own sparsely furnished bedroom.
"Yeah, yeah, kiddo, I'm used to it, but one question - why the one left shoe?" Kenneth asked, "Where's the right?"
"I wear the right side only when I drive," Melanie said accelerating the car to third gear with one swift move of her arm. "I can feel thee clutch better without like three inches of shoe between my foot and the pedal. I always wanted a standard car and i begged my parents to get me one, but they thought I wouldn't be able to drive it, ha!" Then as if to prove her point, she popped the stick into fourth gear.
"Did you feel that transition? Betcha didn't," Melanie said beaming with pride at her driving abilities. The Jetta sailed pat the seemingly endless rows of trees that were interrupted once in awhile to remind drivers that the speed limit was 25 mph. Kenneth noticed that Melanie's digital speedometer read 47, sometimes 48, 49. He chucked under his breath at the irony of the situation: a car in the suburbs blatantly exceeding the speed limit and not a cop in sight. Figures, Kenneth thought to himself. Cops never patrol "Plesantville" it's already safe, protected from the crime and violence, drugs and addicts, runaways and throwaways secured with a wrought iron fence. And if that wasn't enough, Bob, the friendly security guard monitored the gate, waving the familiar cars in and hassling those who didn't belong. Little did Bob know, as he smiled a good morning while opening the barrier for the red Jetta, he was releasing Melanie into the unknowns of the outside world and returning Kenneth back where he belonged.
"Sorry about the mess Ken, but you should know me by now."
Kenneth nodded, remembering when he first met Melanie he was overwhelmed at the sheer amount of stuff in her car. Melanie had everything from clothes to shoes to belts to the perfect bag to compliment the outfit that was circled in red in the Cosmopolitan that Kenneth mistakenly grabbed while trying to find his seat belt. Kenneth secretly thought to himself that living in Melanie's care would be more luxurious then his own sparsely furnished bedroom.
"Yeah, yeah, kiddo, I'm used to it, but one question - why the one left shoe?" Kenneth asked, "Where's the right?"
"I wear the right side only when I drive," Melanie said accelerating the car to third gear with one swift move of her arm. "I can feel thee clutch better without like three inches of shoe between my foot and the pedal. I always wanted a standard car and i begged my parents to get me one, but they thought I wouldn't be able to drive it, ha!" Then as if to prove her point, she popped the stick into fourth gear.
"Did you feel that transition? Betcha didn't," Melanie said beaming with pride at her driving abilities. The Jetta sailed pat the seemingly endless rows of trees that were interrupted once in awhile to remind drivers that the speed limit was 25 mph. Kenneth noticed that Melanie's digital speedometer read 47, sometimes 48, 49. He chucked under his breath at the irony of the situation: a car in the suburbs blatantly exceeding the speed limit and not a cop in sight. Figures, Kenneth thought to himself. Cops never patrol "Plesantville" it's already safe, protected from the crime and violence, drugs and addicts, runaways and throwaways secured with a wrought iron fence. And if that wasn't enough, Bob, the friendly security guard monitored the gate, waving the familiar cars in and hassling those who didn't belong. Little did Bob know, as he smiled a good morning while opening the barrier for the red Jetta, he was releasing Melanie into the unknowns of the outside world and returning Kenneth back where he belonged.
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