by LJ Frank
Retired though active by running errands for people for the price of gas and a donation. I am not well-heeled. My heels wore out. I opted for sandals. That was three years ago. It took me two years to break them in. And I no longer paint my toenails.
It was a tedious drive on the interstate. Traffic. Endless traffic. Luxury pickup trucks, sports utility vehicles, delivery vans, over the road semi-trucks, motorcycles, and me in my small car.
Local radio stations droned their ultra-right nationalistic persuasions. I turned the channel to no avail. I then turned the radio off.
I listened to the sounds of the road and opted to switch the radio back on. The announcer’s voice mentioned someone with the same name as me. It was a husky feminine voice…the kind one might hear in an after-hours piano bar. She said she was a disc jockey and mumbled the radio station’s letters.
She repeated my surname and asked how the driving was coming along. She paused…and then followed with an odd comment and question, “Not all Bach is the same. When was the last time you unthought about J. S. Bach?”
“What kind of question is that?” I asked the radio while slowing down on an exit ramp and glancing at a vehicle pulling up next to mine.
The sultry voice replied, “Look in the rearview mirror.”