“Joanne Cathleen Morone,” the tow truck driver called from the highway side of the 1994 Ford Econoline van, he kicked orange leaves on the ground while waiting.

    “Joe’s fine,” a smoky voice informed. Joanne escorted herself around her van with one hand steadying on the hood, the other stained hand took a drag of cigarette missing her pink painted lips the first time. Straightening out her half untucked salmon blouse and faded rib-high jeans, she walked toward the tow truck driver with a sweet smile, but stopped too close then stumbled back.

    “You a’right Mrs. Joe,” he could smell a mixture of aromas on her, mostly cat hair. “Did you call for a tow?” He said, watching the light drop over the high desert plains behind her backcombed flaxen hair.

    “Mrs.!” Joanne snorted, then instantly turned nearly sticking her cigarette in the tow truck driver’s eye. “I just can’t seem to keep thing piece of junk on the road.” Her arms came down when she noticed he backed away tripping over one of her cats.

    “Snowshine,” Joanne picked up the cat who lay content in her blue vain arms. “Here are the keys.” Joanne dangled the keys in his face, he slowly reached for them, but she pulled them away with a grin and tossed them his way. The tow truck driver shock his head and opened the driver side door.

    “Rrrrrmeow!”

    “Shit!” The tow truck driver jumped against the side of the van, sliding away from the open door. The smell brought tears to his eyes, he went to block his nose or eyes from the stinging ammonia and urine, but his hand was covered with silky yellow goo. He looked up at Joanne, who was checking out the tow truck and getting lipstick all over the cat in her arms.

    “Oh, the local kids egg my van, I stopped cleaning it off ‘cause the next day there’s always more.” He had a look of horror. “Umm,” she said sobering up, “I’ll grab you a cloth.” The cat leapt out of her arms and followed her to the other side of the van.

    “Beep - George ya’there,” the tow truck driver whispered into the radio.

    “Beep - Ya’done the van tow?”

    “Beep - Na’man I don’t get paid enough for this shit. The whole street smells like cat piss and my hands got egg on it, this lady’s crazy all flirting like she’s not 40 years older then me, cats crawling everywhere seriously there’s 15 or more in her van and she lives in it parked for the truck drivers, it’s all nasty.”

    “Beep - Just get the job done and outta there, let the mechanics worry about her.”

    “Beep - Na’man I can’t, I’m allergic to cats, I couldn’t drive this van onto the tuck if my life depended on it.”

Joanne emerged from the corner with a navy blue sweater three times her thin body, a flask, and a towel.

    “I sprayed anti-bacterial freshener on the towel, I heard your allergic.” Joanne’s green eyes softened and she suddenly looked twenty year younger, he took the towel.

    “Beep - We’re gonna sent Scotty, hold on there.”

    “You want a sip,” she rocked the flask back and forth gazing at it.

    “Nahw! You got a cat engraved on it.”

    Her eyes shone, but more from holding back years of tears. “One of my clients gave it to me, he was determent to call me Cat.”

    “Well that’s nice of him!”

    “Naw, he thought I was a crazy drunk cat lady, he just wanted free business.” She drank from the flask like water.

    “Whats your business?” He asked out of causal conversation but it hit him too late. Joanne stood up and staggered a bit, gave the tow truck driver look of deprivation. She walked across the street without looking, a car in the other lane honked.

    “Mrs. Joanne!”

    Joanne threw the cat flask at the semi-truck. A car stopped at the side of the road, followed by a police cruiser. The officer, the tow truck driver, Scotty and Joanne all watched as the flask went right through the driver side window.

    “Crunch!”

    Joanne, still in the middle of the street, fell to her knees. Everyone looked at each other, the officer walked toward her and tried to ease her off the road.

    “No, no, no,” she slapped the cement with both hands mimicking a preyer ritual.

    The tow truck driver coaxed her off the road and they stood beside her van while Scotty, dressed in a rain poncho and white medical mask over his nose and mouth, drove the van onto the tow truck.

    The officer was on the radio with the animal shelter.

    Joanne and the tow truck driver sat in the gravel at the side of the road.                The leaves were few, but all red, orange, and yellow, Joanne was spinning one between her fingers.

    “The kids, the ones that egg my van, I think they cut the wires underneath.” She reached into her giant sweater and pulled out a piece of paper with something rolled-up in it, then handed it to the tow truck driver, her had was cold, soft, and smoke stained. He unrolled the paper, a pair of wire cutters, the note read: Whore.

By Alexandra Lovell