Miracle on View of What Street.

Hilary, aka Hilaria, had washed up and tidied the kitchen after their Christmas brunch. For a little while, she had been a short order cook, over there in View Street. View of what, she wondered, as she glanced from her window to the streetscape. He husband, Ben, was snoring in his arm chair. Their adult sprogs and significant others had all driven off to their other obligations. It was the magical spirit of Christmas.

Sighing, Hilaria picked up her latest craft project. She lived somewhere in the Great Southern Land, so it was summer for Christmas in suburbia. A slow, hot afternoon, her hometown trailed by in heated days at this time of year. A lone dog-strolled past, busy at nothing really. It decorated the letterbox at the end of the driveway, as the roses sagged. The birds commenced gathering in the slumbering afternoon.

Hilaria blinked, what was that? A pizza appeared to be floating down, to land on her driveway. Bemused, she went to see if it was for real. Yes, a pizza supreme, slightly singed around the edges. From the pizza came a pair of one inch-high look alike Italians, dressed in badly fitting suits, and pork pie hats. On their pizza supreme was parked a minute purple car, just like the gas guzzlers of Hilary's youth. Bold and dramatic.

"Buon Natale!" One of the tiny Italians said, "My name is Pasquale, this is my brother, Giovanni. Take us to your leader!" Hilaria stood there, stunned. Maybe is was a mirage. Best to show good manners.

"Do you want a coffee?"

"Yah, due cappoccine. per favore!"

Hilaria ushered the Italian brothers indoors, found some thimbles in her craft stash. One thing she did have was a decent coffee machine. The brothers sat down on the floor, and sipped away.

"Who is your leader?" she asked, wondering about the surreal.

"We'll know when we see him. Hurry up, or we'll shoot!" Pasquale aimed his tiny handgun as Hilaria. She did not feel too threatened, but this was the magic of Christmas.

"What is wrong with your own car?"

"Broken down, stiff. Take us to your leader!" Pasquale picked up his handgun.

"I'll take you for a drive," she said hastily grabbing the car keys of the old family car.

"Grazie," Giovanni muttered, settling in to sit on the dashboard, aiming his weapon through the car window. Hilaria sedately drove off along View of What Street, past all the overflowing bins.

"Drive faster. Take us to your leader!" Pasquale was a nagger. Hilaria was just driving along, something to do on this long, lazy slow news day. Then a police car overtook them, its siren blaring. It was driven by the hometown police chief, much disliked by all the citizens. There were rumors that he was corrupt, took graft, and used informers. No one liked him much.

"Follow that car, now. There is our leader!: Hilaria popped on her sunglasses for a disguise, and hit the gas. The police car was really travelling, so Hilaria had to plant the foot. The old car she was driving was not used to such energetic travelling. Her old jalopy quivered and shook this onslaught of high speed travel. Her sunglasses fogged up, her fan was trying to blast hot air. The muffler fell off, but the Italian brothers kept yelling at Hilaria to drive faster.

Through the quiet Christmas streets, over bridges, through roundabouts, rattling over speed humps, sped the cop car, chased by Hilaria.

"Attagirl!" roared Pasquale, as the police chief jammed on his brakes, pulling up in front of what appeared to be a drug bust. Several police men were arranging a display of dope plants in the driveway, and had some suspects.detained. "What is this town coming to?' Hilaria asked no one in particular.

"Park there, in front of his car!" Giovanni told Hilaria. So she did. The police chief wandered over to her car, and she pointed for him to sit in her front passenger seat.

"We need to have a chat," the police chief said, "First, you were speeding, and second, none of this is happening. You know nothing." Hilaria did not know what to say, more corruption in her burb. Drug busts in such a pleasant leafy southern town.

"I am writing you a speeding ticket, plus here is a ticket for your unroadworthy car." The police chief was very cross, and quite rude and abrupt.

Pasquale yelled, "Enough! Burn rubber, baby, take us back to our pizza .We're taking him home, back to our planet Pizzeria, somewhere in the unknown universe. Suck that up, NASA."

Both the Italians brothers were waving their weapons at the police chief, who promptly stopped talking. Hilaria drove home, as the hot afternoon dwindled down to long shadows.

Arriving in the driveway, Pasquale and Giovanni ran over to their pizza supreme, and elevated it several feet in the air. The police chief could not resist, he walked up and grabbed the pizza. In a flashing light, the whole scenario took off, beyond the speed of light. Hilaris just stood there, amazed.

Yes, Pasquale and Giovanni had found their leader. Now the hometown police chief was orbiting the planet, on a trajectory to the globe named forever as Pizzeria. No one had noticed or cared. The shimmer of the hot day lingered on, as Hilaria picked up a pamphlet.

"Pizzas! Comprare right now! Learn better Italian. Phone the Douchebag Fratelli!"

Hilaria laughed as she went indoors, back to air conditioning. She did order a pizza for dinner that night, could not resist the pizza supreme. It was a new, unusual, holiday tradition. Her snoring husband, Ben, woke up as the pizza and coffees arrived. "Slow old day, isn't it?' he asked her, as she wondered who was the greatest douchebag. Hilaria fed him.

It had been a Christmas miracle on View of What Street. Hometown had disposed of its crooked chief of police. Vanished, in a puff of logic, on a slow news afternoon.

Silence was golden here, what could Hilary, aka Hilaria, say?

"We need a new muffler."

"WTF?"