Still shopping

"There is a tide in the affairs of men which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune," I almost said to myself as I emerged from the hobby supply store. Guided by supernatural instinct I effortlessly located  obscure items that translate into art materials, which I barely suspected existed in this world, just as moments before I swooned in triumph in the bookstore, guided by similar forces, walking straight up to the latest output of Jonathan Franzen, whom I, shamefully, never heard of before. Oh, and I also scored some dark and milk chocolate McVitties at another location. I could have even bought Marmite there, but I restrained myself. I still have some from last year.
On such a sea I was now afloat when my left foot casually depressed the clutch pedal of my born again (didn't stall once all day) convertible 1978 Fiat Spider to change from second to third (it was necessary) when a loud "ping" sounded as the pedal sunk to the floor, not to rise again. I drifted into the vast bleakness of the outer reaches of Cottonwood Mall parking lot, still in second, circled aimlessly a few times while I pondered the option of traveling the fifty odd miles back to the Jemez skillfully changing gear without a clutch. I stopped, turned the engine off and dug my phone out, preparing to make diplomatic conversation with the bastards at a nearly near-by garage who recently worked on the very same cable. The phone, nestled in my slowly constricting hand, made that mournful, melodic, dying sound it is trained to do, as it run out of juice. At that very moment! I glanced at the distant mall, shimmering above the dark asphalt altiplano: Verizon and odd other phone sales vampires swarm in there. I patted my back pocket as I took my first dragging steps: no wallet!
I glanced up to observe the giant anvil quickly darkening the sky as it descended towards me.
It wasn't there. But otherwise the whole tide thing morphed into that flushing swirl, familiar as when shit rushes down to plumbing Hades.
Sorry, but I had to share this.