The Beautiful Mercedes

by Bill Yarrow

No one who saw the beautiful Mercedes 
in the summer of 1966 could ever forget her. 
When she walked into Café Danglars, heads turned. 

I was sent upstate for two years for passing unpopular
checks, but when I got out, I went back to the Café D
just to catch a glimpse of her again. It took a month
but she did return. I was there that day, sitting at 
the counter in my Bermuda shorts, sucking a 7-Up. 

The screen door slowly opened. I was expecting the second
coming of perfection. Not quite. She was bloated like a 
bagel. Her thighs looked like freezer bags filled with dimes. 
There was no necklace anywhere that could fit around that neck.

Two years earlier, she was real money, a class investment.
When she ate up all her principal, well, we lost interest.