The truck blew a flat tire on the parkway, between two exits. The Boss, Alejandro, the guy behind the wheel, the guy who made the decision to jump on the parkway to save time even though trucks are not allowed, slammed his fist against the side of the truck as the depth of his misfortune sunk in. Naturally, there wasn’t a spare. Makes sense. Why should God be on our side, Alejandro muttered. His workers, hanging onto the gas powered leaf blowers and lawn mowers with their fifty-inch cutting width, scoped out the situation and fled, save for José Luis.
Clutching a crowbar, the only tool he could find in the back of the truck, he set to work. Alejandro’s hands flailed as he raged at the injustice of it all. Passing cars cut them a wide berth and Alejandro cursed them. José Luis managed with his Boss’ reluctant help and sheer will to hoist the truck up with cinderblocks. He worked on loosening the lug nuts. Alejandro paced and fretted. “The sun is slipping below the horizon” he shouted at José Luis as he rolled the flat wheel towards the gas station beyond the ridge. José Luis shrugged and whistled to himself, confident that the sun would linger long enough for them to complete the repair and be on their way. Just to be on the safe side, José Luis brought a cheapo flashlight, one of those impulse purchases stationed beside the cash register.