XCIII. Polka. December 13, 2021

>driving Lyft

>it is well past midnight on the Southside

>I am crawling through a labryrinthine trailer park

>my passenger tries to guide me, but even she is stymied by identical trailers and pitch-black night

>as we travel ever deeper into the catacombs, we start hearing polka music

>loud, insistent, exuberant polka music

>we round the corner and see an F-150 truck parked sideways between trailers

>its domelight and my headlights are the only illumination

>its stereo system was clearly very expensive

>Tallahassee sounds like a Czech wedding

>beside the truck’s open door, a white dude is sprawled unconscious in a plastic chair

>my passenger says “is he dead?”

>I say “Nah, I just saw his leg move”

>we proceed to mind our own business