The Suicidal Possum Meets the Indecisive Squirrel

The possum, standing on the roadside as daylight waned awaiting a car in whose path he could run, spied soft headlights in the distance and prepared for his denouement.
As the vehicle approached, the possum gathered his resolve, like a Baghdad suicide bomber, when out the corner of his eye he discerned movement. His concentration thus unraveled, the possum found his opportunity usurped by a squirrel that sprinted past him and into the path of the oncoming car.
The squirrel, lacking premeditation and perhaps foresight, appeared to have second thoughts about his mad dash into the street and turned back in the direction from which he had come, like a furry gray rodent stricken with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. But as soon as he had turned back, he thought it reasonable to reverse course again, the 50-mile-an-hour vehicle quickly closing the gap in a 25-m.p.h. zone. The bemused opossum watched as once more the squirrel turned toward him, changing direction for the third time.
"Squirrel," the opossum asked, "what the fuck are you doing?"
But the squirrel again had headed for the opposite curb, at which point he could have measured the tread of the vehicle's front right tire had he been so inclined. Apparently not so predisposed, the squirrel again veered toward the possum and the car passed.
"What are you doing?" the possum inquired.
"Fuck you," replied the squirrel, "and what were you doing standing there like that alongside the road, anyway?"
"I was waiting for my chance to get across."
"Bullshit. I saw you from 50 yards away, and you had plenty of time to cross before that car came. You're being disingenuous."
"Well, I was preoccupied for a moment," the possum answered.
"Preoccupied with what?"
"With whether or not some stupid squirrel would come along and mess up my chance to cross the street."
"I don't think so. I've seen enough possums flattened like pancakes to know that you're either the dumbest creatures that ever lived or you have suicidal proclivities."
The possum blew out a thin stream of breath and settled back on his haunches, asphalt pebbles pocking his skin. "I was thinking about health-care reform and financial-market regulation."
"I don't have time to think about that. I'm just worried about getting across this road."
"I hear ya," the possum replied.
A cool breeze carried stinging roadside particles along on a current of air.
"This is it, squirrel."
"What do you mean, this is it?"
"Well, what else is there?"
"For one thing, if I ever get across this fucking road I'm going to scavenge for some acorns. I can't go a day without some." The squirrel lifted his right leg and scratched his ear, staccato-like.
A car slipped by, and the animals felt the vibrations of the pulsing bass beat.
"I hate that shit," the possum said.
"Me, fucking, too."
"You ever go in that yard there?" the possum asked, gesturing with his head over his right shoulder.
"Yeah, some dog."
"That bitch won't leave me alone."
"They're like that," said the squirrel. "Don't kid yourself that they're not. Sometimes she seems friendly, but then the teeth come out."
A car, with a dead deer lashed to the hood, passed.
"You suppose they hit that deer with the car or shot it and tied it there or picked it up off the side of the road?" asked the possum.
"Shot it, I guess. Deer don't have anywhere to go, then they get shot. Could be you splayed on the front of that car."
"Or you."
"See you next time, possum."
"Yeah, squirrel, maybe so, maybe so."