One Last Stop

Officer Hillman consults with his elders

"What's that, son? I don't hear so good anymore. That new doctor down in Winchester said I got...oh...shoot... Well, I forget the name of it. I got these hearing aids, but they don't do nothing but make my ears hurt! Why, one time they hurt so bad I thought I had—"

Don Hillman was a patient man, but the old-timer in the ugly green land yacht of an Oldsmobile was beginning to wear on him. Or maybe it was the heat. Or just the end-of-shift blues. In any case... "Sir, I just need your insurance and registration."

"My destination? Why, I'm goin' home! Course, I gotta stop and get bread. You know, the missus always forgets somethin' when she goes down to the store. One time, she left the left the whole cart there! Got to talking with Maryellen Homes, who lived next door at the—"

The officer wiped his forehead and resettled his stiff brimmed "Smokey Bear" hat. He raised his voice a bit. "Not your destination; I don't need to know where you're going. I need the re-gis-tra-tion! Maybe in the glovebox?"

"I...I didn't see any cub fox around here. Besides, they're called kittens, did you know that? Kit foxes. Most times, anyway. My grandson told me that. Smart as I whip, that boy! Why, only fourth grade and by God, I believe that boy's gonna grow up to be a watchacallit, an animal scientist. ...Zoologist, that's it! But there's no foxes around here, Sonny."

"Jesus Christ," Hillman muttered. Then, louder: "It's okay, Mr..." he looked down at the license. "...Gonninger. I'll be right back." He turned away looking at the battered plastic card when Mr. Gonninger's wavery voice drifted back to him through the heat.

"Wait a minute!" Mr. Gonninger hollered. "Ain't you gonna need my registration?!"

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words fox, bread, and hat