by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
I looked at the young man in his JiffySpeed uniform. He repeated it. "Umferg Dollup."
There were four of us sitting on the spindly plastic chairs of the waiting room. We’d all come in to have our oil changed on this rainy Saturday morning and all four cars were in their stables. The young mumbler was obviously trying to tell