Work Title

The Question


Richard H. Owens


He stood beside his car with one foot resting on the rear tire. A crowd of people were gathered around him looking curiously into his face. They asked questions that he answered automatically - not giving the answers any thought because he had heard them over and over again from people who were trying to form a possible story. They wanted a little personal touch to add in case they got the chance to tell about an ex-midget race driver with whom they had had a little chat once. He did not look at anyone's eyes particularly, but he knew what was there: admiration, excitement and that question that he had never heard, yet knew by heart. He didn't have an answer for it; he didn't want an answer for it. He knew the mechanic had shined his car and that the motor was in perfect condition but something wasn't quite right, something was bothering him.



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