A Grey Matter

The tow truck arrived after I had been sitting there for more than an hour. The man looked familiar and friendly. A tall, wiry, dark-haired man in a red baseball cap and worn work boots, got out of his truck to greet me.
“Have you been here long?” He said.
“An hour,” I said.
“Sorry, I just came from a really bad wreck,” he said, with a nervous tone.
“Oh yeah, what happened?”
“I don’t know how the accident happened, but the driver must have taken a terrible blow to the head.”
“Why?” I said.
“There was blood everywhere, and I found a chunk of gray matter on the back seat as big as an onion. But that’s not the worst of it.”
He told me how it had been a hot wretched afternoon, and he’d been rather bored most of the day. He wanted something to do, and when that call came in, he was ready and willing to be there to provide a needed service.
When he pulled the crippled car back to the yard and parked it, he heard a strange dull ring coming from the car. He figured he might have to disconnect the battery, which is common after a wreck. He stuck his head in through the broken front window and immediately wished he hadn’t. Bees. Bees frenzied in the car, hundreds of them. It took the driver a moment to figure out what was attracting them. And then he spied the gray matter, now half the size it was at the crash scene. Bees cannot resist the powerful, fatty, cholesterol ridden aroma of mammal gray matter.
How sweet it is.