Dipsticks, Lubricants & Abject Infidelity -

She wiped the dipstick on her husband’s white undershirt—the one he’d left balled in the laundry, the one that smelled of someone else’s shampoo.

The seemingly disparate concepts of dipsticks, lubricants, and abject infidelity may at first glance appear to have little in common. However, upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that these terms can be woven together into a narrative that explores themes of maintenance, relationships, and the human condition. dipsticks, lubricants & abject infidelity

It was the third dipstick of the morning, and Clara already knew. She wiped the dipstick on her husband’s white

He frowned. Overfilling was dangerous. It caused pressure buildup. It caused seals to blow. Just like the last three days—sleepless, hallucinating her face, replaying a decade of memories through the lens of that motel receipt. The pressure in his chest was crushing him. It was the third dipstick of the morning,

He slid it back into the engine until it clicked shut. In the morning, he would confront her. He would strip the gears and look at the damage. But for now, in the silence of the garage, surrounded by the smell of petroleum and the ghost of a marriage, he simply appreciated the mechanics of things. The car didn't lie. The dipstick didn't cheat. And the oil, no matter how dirty it got, still did its job.

Beside him on the concrete sat the quart of oil, the plastic bottle perspiring, and the dipstick, pulled from its sheath and laying across a dirty rag like an accusation. He had checked the level twice before starting. Full. The oil was a healthy amber on the stick, a sharp contrast to the sludge in his gut.