The red truck is registered to a Joseph Smith. That’s what the slip of paper in the glove compartment says. The imprint also comes back to Joseph Smith. The VIN number inside the door is tied to a red Dodge Dakota that was sold by Rocket Pit Stop motors to one Joseph Smith in 2001. Even Joseph Smith, the young man driving the Dakota is carrying a license that belongs to Joseph Smith, a man with a social security number and a DL number and who somewhere has a birth certificate that says he was born in 1973 in Cullman City at St. Mary’s Hospital, and probably has drawers full of legally-binding documents that belong to someone else other than the young man driving the red Dakota right now.
His name is Jose, and he is lucky, very lucky to have only two letters to add to his name and an accent designate to take away, and to look exactly like a man who has almost the same name as him; indeed he is very similar, except that he was born in Idaho, and Jose was born in Mexico.
“That’s why they call me a cowboy, baby….
riding at night ’cause I sleep all day…”
The windows are down and Jose is driving south. He is speeding and it is a beautiful day. He has his windows down and is letting the wind play with his hair, and he is glad because it is his sister’s birthday. He thinks about the place they will meet that the fence divides down the middle. Half of them are on one side, and half of them are on the other.
If half of your family were on the other side of the fence, and you cried every April 22nd because you watched your mom try not to cry while she held your sister’s hand through a chain link fence?
The though popped out of nowhere and had nothing to do with what was happening only a few seconds before. He had his music playing through an Ipod Race, and his mood to urge and listen to Kid Rock songs that he didn’t know the American Boys laughed about had changed along with song.
Alcohol Vending, Civil Liability and Remedies Under Florida Law
