woke up without a hangover

I shower, shave, shovel a couple eggs down my throat, worry about losing my job because my manager thinks I’m "unconventional and withdrawn," and don’t "follow through enough."

I shrug through my coffee, cover my body with the same blue Oxford shirt and tan khaki pants I wore the day before and probably the day before that, hobble out the door with bad breath and no breath mints and a definite sense of schlubb.

My sky blue Skylark is my friend this morning. It starts. On the first try.

However, halfway down the street I run over a nail.

And I don’t have the kind of tires that can run over a nail.

I have the kind of tires that can barely run over a road.

My life’s quota of flat tires has not been met.

So my sky blue Skylark limps to the shoulder, where it must lean for now.