Hubcap

Right as I was about to cross the street the ambulance came racing by. Turned the corner, hit the curb, and the hubcap came flying off. Rolled right up to my feet, rolled tidily like a boy pushing a wheel with a stick in some olden time movie. I picked it up, saw it as an omen. It was my move-in day.

I walked into my new apartment. Studio. Room. The kitchen was designated with terrible linoleum, a fraction of a half a centimeter higher than my terrible wood floor. There was an oven, four small burners, one small door. Above it was nothing. No light, no microwave, no vent. Dust bits clung to the streaks of oil spattered up on the wall. I hung it there. Put a few holes in the drywall before I found one to my liking.

People ask me what it's doing there. I never know quite what to tell them. Something needed to go there. Something to catch the oil. But really, it came to me. I want to say it came to me, it needed to be with me, needed to be in my home. One person's trash... But that seems so silly.