Clear Oak Street

Ramon had twenty minutes to clear Oak Street before the mayor's parade, and only one vehicle remained: his sister's battered food truck. She had ignored three calls and painted over the tow notice with a smiling taco. Ramon hooked the front axle while the breakfast crowd booed. Then the serving window slid open. A little boy Ramon had never seen leaned out, flour on his cheeks. "Please don't move us," he said. "My mom is underneath." Ramon dropped the controls. Three sharp knocks came from below the truck, followed by his sister's voice from the locked cab.