Living Alone by H. Donald Cabinet

It's morning, finally. I methodically reverse my Honda Accord into a bewilderingly convenient parking space. The lot at work is crowded like opening night at The Globe, except for this one space. I step from the car, hit the central locking control, and--as I shut the door--realize that my keys remain in the ignition. I consider calling my mother, then see my cellular phone on the seat. My lights are still on. I recline impotently on the car next to me. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit.