“Do You Suck Dick?!” He Screamed

“Do you suck dick?! Do you suck dick?!”

Over and over and over again.

Not at me, mind you, he was screaming at the other guy, the one who pulled around the corner into the parking lot lane where the screamer was backing out, quickly, hidden from view by a long van. One pulled in too fast. One pulled out too fast. Neither could see the other and the collision was inevitable.

My car was now blocked by both of them, on the other side of the long van. I didn’t know vans could be so long—it should have parked further down where it could take up two end-to-end spaces and wouldn’t stick out—but that didn’t matter anymore because both gentlemen, or, rather, hostilemen, were out of their cars and hollering. It was as if their words were magnets, pulling them towards each other, close enough for spittle to latch, violating two long years of practiced social distancing.

The round-the-corner driver was a skinny guy with lengthy arms dangling inside an elongated sweatshirt. He also had an elaborate goatee. His verticality made him look like a strand of hard spaghetti to the backer-outer’s thickly oversized frozen ravioli, a wall of rigid material.

I snuck by the van and unlocked my car, fearful of the escalating argument. I debated if it was safer to run back inside.