Peter piper pulled over
on the shoulder of the road. He banged on the heater and swore under
his breath. The damn thing had died on him. Well, a few more miles and he’d be
home and dry. That is, if he had not taken a wrong turning. He was going where
he and Angela had spent their honeymoon. He had to find cheap lodgings and in
the morning he’d go job hunting.
He opened the glove
compartment and took a map. He checked his surroundings and put it away. It was
freezing in the car. He briskly rubbed his hands together, cupped them and blew
hot air in them, then he opened the map compartment and took a pair of black
gloves and slipped them on. They were black, with white stitching all around.
Each one had four fingers of various lengths and an opposable thumb. They were
like.. well, gloves. He opened the door and got out of the car. A gust of icy
wind took his breath away. He buttoned up his collar and turned up his coat
then realized his mistake and buttoned up his coat and turned up his collar. He
looked around and saw a shopping centre some distance away. He hunched his
shoulders and headed that way. Let the old banger cool off a bit.
Peter piper pushed
the glass door but it wouldn’t budge. His eyes fell on a sticker that was
glaring him in the face. It said “PULL”. Underneath, he could read: Doors marked “pull” reduce the speed of
those who push before they read. He muttered an oath I’m not going to
repeat and went inside. He was greeted by a blessed wave of warmth from the
central heating. He collected a shopping basket from the pile by the door and
strolled along the aisles. He walked slowly, tossing items in the red plastic
basket with the black handle. (The devil’s in the detail, see?). He stopped and
perused the shelf housing sachets of olives, caper and the like. Pete Piper
picked a pack of pickled peppers. Huh, try saying that 3 times before reading
on. He looked at the price tag, shook his head in disgust and tossed it in the
you-know-what. He thought prices were getting ridiculously high.
"Prices are getting
ridiculously high", he thought. (There! what did I tell you?)
He heard shuffling
and he warily looked over his shoulder. Just an old lady pushing her walking
frame. Why was he being so jumpy? He’d done his time and they had nothing on
him. He’d paid a high price for a stupid mistake. DUI. He’d got five years for
manslaughter. He’d rammed a car on the driver’s side, killing the driver
instantly. His pregnant wife, in the passenger seat, died later in the ICU. Out
of prison, he’d fled the town and the accusing stares. He didn’t want anything
to remind him of that part of his life. He knew no one here and no one knew
him. He would not mix with the locals. He came to live in Cognito where no one
knew him. He went to the wine & liquor aisle. He started to salivate as his
eyes ran along the bottles with their various shapes and amber colour.
He moved on as a
memory came unbidden. He used to drink heavily. He had come home one evening pissed as a lord and slept
like a log. As the house had felt cold later, his wife had had to wake him to
be able to light the fireplace.
Peter eventually
reached Cognito and found a cheap motel. He dumped his purchases on the table
and took out a beer. He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drag. He
went to put everything away but couldn’t find the pickled peppers. He scratched
his head in puzzlement. I bet that, at this point, the most perceptive readers
must be wondering “where’s the pack of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?”
“Damn!” he thought,
“I must’ve dropped it in the car”.
Peter Piper left the
room and went to the car. The pack was not on the passenger seat where he
expected it to be. It was not in the foot well nor under the seats. Peter straightened
up and tried to puzzle out the puzzle that was puzzling him. A few people
bumped into him when he was leaving the shopping centre. Has someone filched
it? Probably. There were some dodgy-looking youths there with nose rings, studs
in their ears and spiky hair. He was sure of it now.
Someone picked the
pack of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked.
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