Bumper Sticker

I was walking back to my car with a bag of jalapeno kettle chips in one hand and a blue Gatorade in the other when I saw the bumper sticker. A black-and-white, cartoonish, skull with menacing eyes stared into mine. The American flag was imprinted on the skull. The skull was covered in vertical stripes with stars surrounding the left eye. The parking spot to the right of my sedan was now occupied by a large, black pickup truck. It was a 2006 Ford F-150 with silver detailing around the fender and the pickup bed. The skull was positioned directly in the center of the tailgate. Clearly, the owner wanted people to see it.

As I neared the truck, I noticed that the tires and the undercarriage were caked in mud. There was a crack in the front right headlight, shoddily repaired with black duct tape. Several scratches marred the cab of the truck. Unprompted, I opened the passenger door. I was immediately hit by the smell of cigarettes. The truck was lined with worn-out black leather. Receipts, speeding tickets, and cigarette butts were littered around the handbrake. The sparkly blue dress of an Elsa bobblehead on the dashboard disrupted the dark monotony of the interior. I was taken aback, but then I reasoned that the truck’s owner must have a kid.

            I heard an indignant growl behind me. I turned around to see a white man in his late 40s. He had on sunglasses and a red MAGA hat which covered his receding hairline. He was wearing a black T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a camo vest. His shirt had dog hair and crumbs on it. He had “Live free or die” tattooed on his left arm. In his left hand, he was holding a canned beverage in a brown paper bag.  His beard and mustache were unkempt. He pointed his index finger at me and a scowl decorated his face. “Can I help you, snowflake?” he drunkenly muttered.