I went to my guitar lesson. It was my second lesson and I knew I’d quit again soon. I sat there mildly strumming the four chords I’d learned during my last stint. A girl walked in with a gaze at her feet and her cat. She was short, plump, acne-covered, oily-haired and altogether ugly. She was famous, though I didn’t like her music. I wondered if she was going to give lessons or take them. Then her face was not famous; it was one from high school. She was shy and her ugliness always bent me. Tied my face, squared my words. Her cat had similar effects, long, close-to-matted hair, and, in the place of acne, mulberried gums—no teeth, and an innocent, gaping jaw. It was disturbing, mild, and apparently well loved. An observer, upon reaching the latter, checks his capacity to care.

I left. When my car didn’t start, I nodded. When I run my car doesn’t. Lacking any knowledge of the inner workings, I lifted the hood and jiggled the battery cables. I thought about checking the oil. I knew it wouldn’t help, but it’s reassuring somehow. I was poking at something when she and her cat reappeared. Her bulging and half-concealed eyes fluttering over the pavement. And, seeing that I was fixing a car and therefore must have some mechanical knowledge, she handed me some sort of dentures and asked me to fix her cat. Anxious to atone, I tried to look her in the eyes and nod assuredly. She left and I stared at that thing, shuddered and turned back to greasy mess of wires. It watched me harmlessly and I grew angry with my automotive ineptitudes. Its big half-greasy hair I imagined ratted and homeless. The fucking dime-a-day commercial stared at me and the car my parents bought. Without wanting to touch the gums, I locked my arm straight, dentures hanging on my limber wrist. It sniffed, paused, gummed, then quickly swallowed them. It looked at me with swelled eyes wishing to explain. I panicked and thought of catfish fins that always stuck me. My hooks found guts and dad would use pliers. Still unable to touch it, I joined it on the pavement for a while. We waited there and I returned its pitied and helpless stare. Possessed of all the wrong tools, I vowed not to feel guilty, closed the hood, and walked home.