Keeping Up

Thomas drove his beat up car through the driving rain to job number three. Money had been tight for a long while now. Worse in the last few months, but the signs had been there for years to be honest. Despite working nearly every day with double shifts and not enough sleep, it felt impossible to keep up.

Between rising rent, rising food prices, and gas, he had little time for anything else.

He glanced at the rearview mirror and froze. A tailgating police car filled the entire mirror, flashing lights glaring.

"No, no, not now. What was I even doing?" Thomas pulled over. The tires crunched over debris from previous car wrecks and discarded trash. He fumbled for his wallet and lowered the driver's side window. A knock issued from the passenger side window and he jumped.

"License and registration, please." The cop was the epitome of every cop he ever saw: same uniform, aviator sunglasses, and a hat with drawstrings.

Thomas sputtered as he tried to find his ID in his wallet, usually a simple task at the grocery store, but nearly impossible here. Thomas handed the cop the card, who didn't even glance at it.

"Registration? For your vehicle, sir?"

"Oh right." Thomas fumbled with the glove compartment. Receipts and trash tumbled out. The cop sighed as the cascade littered the passenger side. After a moment that felt like years, he found the crumpled green paper and handed it over.

"Where's your insurance?" The cop asked. Thomas stammered. Since when did they ask for two things when they meant three?

Thomas had no idea where his registration was. He had intended to print a copy, but he had no printer. His insurance used to send a plastic card in the mail, but that had stopped in the progressive age of paper-less.

"Can you bring it up on your phone?" The cop asked. "I'll be right back." Thomas struggled with his phone to find it.

In twenty minutes that felt like decades, the cop left him with the maximum fine for a expired car tabs, over a year old.