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parking meters. Broadway was also US highway 10 and traffic was steady. I studied the cars and trucks that went by. I liked cars and prided myself in being able to identify them. I watched for my favorites. A new 1955 Chevy hard top convertible, two-tone lemon and white passed by. I envied it, but knew I could never afford one. What I wanted was a 1949 Ford convertible, leaded-in and lowered like one I saw a kid from California driving. Maybe someday I could get one. If I hadn’t spent all my money I could have already bought a 1941 Chevy coupe that sat in the used car lot across the street from Nona’s café. It ran and cost only fifty dollars. I just had to save my money. But I wanted to look good when I started a new school, so what money I didn’t piddle away went for clothes.
I turned and walked across the fill. This was Division Street, filled in across a quarter-mile horn of Moses Lake, with a wooden bridge in the middle. The lake was still and blue with green on the other side where willow trees lined the shore, and smooth lawns flowed from nice houses down to the lapping cool water.
I started daydreaming. Someday I would have my own house. It certainly wouldn’t be a trailer house. I wanted a house with a nice green lawn and big trees, and enough bedrooms for everyone. Then I thought about joining the army and wearing a green uniform with ribbons on my chest. Moses Lake was full of airmen from Larson Air force Base, but their uniforms were plain looking. I heard someone say they looked like bus drivers. Occasionally some of them hung
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