A Chute Swings Over Open Leather
Wet gray slurry surged down the metal chute and splashed straight onto beige leather upholstery.
A worker in a white hard hat gripped the guide handle, directing the flow between the bucket seats as the vehicle began filling up like a mixing trough.
From across the asphalt, leather soles slapped against the pavement as a man in a navy suit rushed forward, arms flailing. His mouth opened wide, shouting frantically for the flow to halt, but the heavy drum behind the chute kept turning.
A gray-haired man sitting upright in a wheelchair observed from the curb, his arm extended toward the vehicle with a single finger pointing forward.
Moving The Warning Marker Aside
Sixty minutes before the chute released, the crimson convertible had rolled to a halt in front of a wide concrete entryway. Two bright orange cones flanked a metal board clearly stenciled with bold letters reading Active Construction No Parking.
The driver checked both mirrors, gave a curt nod to himself, and cracked open the driver door. He stepped onto the roadway, leaned down with one hand, and dragged the orange cone across the asphalt, scraping rubber against stone.
After shoving the barrier beside the sign, he climbed back behind the wheel and guided the convertible directly into the driveway before shutting off the engine.
The man in the wheelchair rolled his wheels forward until he stopped a few yards away. He lifted his hand toward the vehicle and noted that this was the third time that week the crew had been blocked from accessing the bay.
The driver tapped the glass face of his wristwatch, stating he would only be five minutes. When the worker beside the mixer explained that an entire pour schedule was stalled, the driver merely turned his back and walked away, instructing them to work around whatever was in their path.
Taking The Words Literally
The worker looked down at the older man in the wheelchair. A short nod followed, and the lever on the side of the mixer clicked backward into position.
The heavy compound bubbled down the channel, settling into the footwells, submerging the gearshift, and leveling off against the tops of the headrests.
When the driver hurried back, his arms dropped to his sides as he stared at the pool of wet mortar smoothing out inside his open cabin. He demanded to know who had authorized the delivery to pour directly into the seats.
The man in the wheelchair rested his hands flat against his armrests. He stated plainly that the decision had been his alone.
When pressed for a supervisor, the seated man pointed to the concrete multi-story complex rising behind him, then to the garage floor, and finally to the paved ramp where the car rested. Every inch belonged to his operation.
The driver pointed toward the sidewalk, arguing that no clear warnings existed. In response, the older man pointed toward the curb, where the dragged orange cone still sat on the sidewalk right next to the metal warning sign.
The older man in the wheelchair rested his chin forward and watched quietly as gray sludge began seeping out past the bottom of the convertible door frame.
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