Footed

I stared at the droplets streaking down the PSVs glass while I processed what I had just seen. While dodging puddles, the feet. Crew cut. Stud. A working watch. No qualms.

When the PSV paused, I looked out the loading door. And saw the feet. Strips off different clothes. Blacks and whites turned brown. At ease.

The PSV snapped me forward and its door shut.

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Two Red Cars

I saw the lines at the corner of my eye. The metallic crimson had a certain lustre. The tint must have been placed to block the stares and the hip shades completed the look. I followed the lines past its frame and only the left headlamp stared. It stopped and I saw the scrape on its right hand side. My gaze panned right. Up the road.

It took a left turn in front of me. Spotless bodywork. Pastel bright paint. Two brash chrome pipes. Well worn low profile tires. Both brake lights beamed. Clear windows. Golf shirt and worn baseball cap. When it turned right, I sensed a slight smile.

OK for a three point or great for six with five trailing?