It was seven-thirty in the morning and The Van Man awoke from nothingness. His mouth was sore, teeth crusted over with blood from the scabbed and gaping wound. There would be no coffee for him that morning. The heat would aggravate his ditch. He rolled up his sheet and decided to drive straight to the library where he could park and heal. As he connected the battery and climbed back into the van, he thought about how that particular day was his Van Living Anniversary. One year and ticking.
Van Man had a favorite space to park in at the library. It was shaded for a large portion of the day and if he got there early enough, he would nab it before The Red Van got it. Van Man did not know who or what creature drove The Red Van and he did not care. They were sworn enemies from some long ago life. He possessed an unquenchable competitive fire with that fucking Red Van and it burned deep.
Van Man arrived and his spot was his. The Red Van was vanquished again. He noticed the scattered cars in the lot and laid down on the floor of his van. He closed his eyes and hoped he could sleep a bit and let the pain subside. He would need to eat.
The sirens of emergency vehicles woke up Van Man. He looked out the window and quickly slid back down. There were fire trucks and ambulances. Van Man did not want to be seen. Twenty minutes had passed and he peeked out again. No emergency vehicles. But there were four police cruisers and a taped-off section of the lot, all forty feet behind his van. The cops appeared as if they were questioning people in the lot. Van Man hid in fear. He did not do anything, but if the cops found him, they would fuck him. They would search his van and threaten jail. All the while, his mouth would ache and his stomach would grumble. Pure, unadulterated misery. Besides, Van Man was no witness. He had learned a few things in the van. One of them was to mind his own business.
His opportunity came and Van Man took it. A coroner had arrived and was examining a body on the ground while police officers looked on. Van Man jumped in the driver's seat and started his engine. He got the hell out of there.
The Van Man drove away relieved and hungry. And a little curious. Who was that body? Did it just croak in the lot? Was it a suicide? Did some poor soul blow their brains out in the middle of the night and no one noticed until morning? The Van Man drove on. It did not matter, did it? He was alive and the police had not fucked with him. He would go eat oatmeal and cold eggs at Denny's. The Body would not. Happy Anniversary.