I had a dream. It was set in the future, but it wasn’t that futuristic. It mostly looked like it does today. There were no flying cars, for example.

But there was one car that everyone who was anyone owned. A Mercedes Benz. But not just any run-of-the-mill $70,000 Benz. This Mercedes Benz was the best car ever made.

This Mercedes Benz represented the epitome of luxury and capitalistic success.

This Mercedes Benz meant never having to explain yourself to others.

I don’t remember all the details, but a few of the prominent features of the vehicle that made it through the night and left an impression on my brain were a titanium frame, black onyx interior trim, diamond control knobs, 24 karat gold exterior paint, platinum wheels, Waterford crystal headlamps, and pressed rubies for the tail lamps. The total cost of the car was 5 million dollars.

And it was the best selling car in America.

Everyone who wanted to be anyone wanted one, and, thanks to creative financing, almost anyone could have one.

In my dream in the future, everyone else drove a Kia. Which is to say, poor people who didn’t qualify for Mercedes financing drove Kias.

I was a walker.

As I was walking along in my dream, I heard the screeching of brakes and the awful sound of cars colliding. I turned to see a Spanish family fly out the windows of their Kia in all directions. They’d been blindsided by a golden Mercedes. The Kia exploded. I rushed over to see if I could help the children, but they were all motionless. Definitely dead. The father was still in the car. Definitely dead, too. I didn’t see the mother. Then I looked over at the Mercedes where a white woman in a yellow tennis outfit was crawling on the ground and talking on her phone. Her legs were missing. “Yes, I was in a stupid accident.” she said to someone on the other end. “So tell Sven I’ll be a few minutes late. But for him not to start without me.” Then she pulled herself along the pavement on her elbows and collected shards of rubies that had shattered in the crash.




Taking Sides
Inherent Creativity

Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.