Lorry

There was this chap lived down the street from me, he was the simpleminded sort that didn't know any better than to come out of the rain, but he was goodhearted just the same. One day a lorry came by and ran the poor bloke over. Was a sad thing it was.

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This is not a lolly, but a truck in England.

The child sniffled. The woman rummaged in her handbag – small, proper, black – for a tissue.

Piccadilly said, »Don't even touch him. His snotty nose is my headcold.«

The woman frowned and wiped the child's nose anyway. Rolled down a window and tossed the tissue out. Piccadilly leaned hard on the horn. Someone flipped him the bird. No petrol for miles. No way forward, no way back.

Piccadilly began to sing. »Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag!«

I wish we had lorries in America, but we don't. here, all our automobiles are cars. someday, I hope I get to go somewhere else and ride in a lorry, just because it's a better word than car.