Literary Work
Elena Lupanova
A BIRD I IN THE FACE Mike Todd
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NEW READER MAGAZINE
was driving my pick-up. Bobby rode shotgun. The deejay was telling us that the latest hit from the Monkees would be coming up right after this commercial break so don’t go away. And Paul sat in the middle when he turned off the radio, cleared his throat, and said, “Gentlemen, I have a major announcement to make.” He followed it by passing an excessive amount of gas which had apparently been building up for hours. It rumbled like heavy furniture scooting across the floor. The vinyl bench seat vibrated beneath us. Then we smelled it. “And I mean that from the heart of my bottom,” Paul said, smiling with satisfaction. “Oh, man! Why did you have to—” Bobby said as he frantically rolled down his window. “Damn, Paul! What crawled up you?” I asked, rolling my own down. Then I stopped inhaling as I continued driving, the cold December air stinging my face but offering the best alternative under the circumstances. Knowing I could hold my breath longer than Bobby, I glanced at him occasionally as a miner might his canary.
