Jeremy needed a fucking break; his ass hurt. He'd driven this damned pick up from Vegas nonstop. That itself would be mind-numbing enough, but, in the night, darkness enveloped the car. He couldn't see a thing beyond the reach of his headlights, and he hadn't passed another car since Scottsdale. Traveling through an unending field of nothing was alternately monotonous and terrifying. I am so fucking done, mate.
He glanced to his right. In the dark at the opposite of the end of the cab, he could make out Jason's silhouette. His eyes were open but he was lost in his own world. Fuck's sake, thought Jeremy, He's getting worse. The man don't move anymore. He don't feel anymore. He's a fucking robot, he is, been sitting in still silence for damn near two days.
With Jeremy's eyes off the road, the Chevy Silverado drifted right and hit the rumble strip on the shoulder. The sensation jolted Jeremy out of his stupor; he over-corrected, pulling hard left and then back right.
"What...?" The jostling woke Twain who'd been riding bitch and napping quietly.
"Nothing. Knocked the Oh-Shit Strip. That's it. Back to sleep with you" Twain was already half way to dreamland before Jeremy finished his sentence.
Jason spoke: "Keep your focus. This is the easy part." His words were neither encouragement nor admonition. Cold, objective directive. He never even turned to look at Jeremy. Yet somehow, this was the proverbial straw that broke the Irishman's back.
"Fuckin hell mate! I'm 700 miles and 7 and a half hours into this goddamned trip. You've got some balls to sit there, and tell me to keep my shit together. I'm the only one bloody here stepping up and doing my part. Amy Winehouse here to my right and John Popper there in the back..."
"I resent that." yelled Monty from the bed.
"Fuck you fatass! They've been asleep since Kingman. And you..." His voice raised. His finger pointed. "You haven't been the same since we took down Aschenbrenner a year ago. You're a fucking ghost. You may as well not even be here..."
"Jeremy..." Twain tried to interject, to no avail.
"You sit there, scheming and plotting about fuck knows what. Now you're leading us to a hornet nest of these winged motherfuckers, and all for what? Trying to find something we're not even sure exists. This is a grail quest of the worst fucking kind mate. You..."
"Jeremy!" Twain's scream.
Everything happened so fast. Jeremy snapped his head back towards the road. A pedestrian appeared in the headlight's path. At this speed the truck would obliterate him.
It was Jason who saved Tommie's life; he reacted with preternatural quickness. He yanked the steering wheel right, a hard turn that sent the Silverado off road. Jeremy finally reacted, correcting left to try to get the truck back on the road. Too much. The truck rolled side over side across the desert road. In the cab, one flashed through Jeremy's mind as the world outside spun: Maybe it's the horizon that's moving, not me. He blacked out before the rolling stopped.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Introduction, Part 1
Tommie Lin came to with the taste of cigarettes and Michelada on his tongue. He lay on a crumpled bed in a darkness interrupted only by the flashing 12:00 P.M. of a green digital clock strewn on the ground halfway across the room. He'd no idea where he was or what time it was, only that he was incredibly hungover and completely naked.
Tommie rose to his elbows, then sat up when a raucous snore alerted him to the presence of someone else in the room. He could make out the huge bulges of pasty flesh uncovered inches beside him. Oh fuck. Who is she? His mind raced through yesterday afternoon's activities. The ASU Pregame barbeque. (5 beers and two monster keg stands.) The noon basketball game against UCLA (Flask of whiskey in each pocket) The Sigma Phi pig roast immediately afterward. (That's where it got hazy. He blacked out probably around 4 P.M.) Who is this fat fuck next me? Please tell me I didn't. He rubbed his cheek and felt a hair of unnatural length on his cheek. His face was so coated with pussy juice the pain of peeling off the wiry pubic hair woke him completely. It occurred to him that the Michelada taste in his mouth was just the combination of pussy and Miller Lite.
I have no idea who she is..., admitted Tommie. A thought quickly occurred to Tommie, and he navigated his hands through the folds of fat to feel his lover's crotch. When he found a vagina, he exhaled in relief. ...And I don't want to find out. It occurred to him that it was time to get the fuck out of dodge before this heifer roused.
Hungover as he was, he navigated his exit as stealthfully as a ninja. He spotted his vintage Atari t-shirt crumpled at the foot of the bed and his pants and underwear on the ground a couple of feet away. He slid into his pants with a dancer's grace and quickly pulled his shirt over his skinny frame. It reeked of piss and pussy. He removed it immediately. He searched for and quickly found his ASU hoodie in a empty KFC bucket in the adjoining bathroom. When he picked it up, large clumps of dried vomit flaked off the front, landing to floor with a plop, plop. Guess I'll have to wear the t-shirt. Tommie's shoes were nowhere to be found; he checked under the bed, rose too quickly, and nearly vomited (again?). He opened the bedroom door and found his Chucks in the hallway. It dawned on Tommie: This ain't the dorms at all. He had to be off-campus but he had no idea where the fuck he was.
In the bedroom across the hallway, someone sneezed from the top of the bunk bed. A family portrait hung to Tommie's left revealed his paramour's snaggletoothed, sweaty, and swollen face as well as three equally ugly and chunky children. Fuck. He'd navigate home somehow, but extrication was all that mattered to Tommie at this point. He made his way down the hall, past the living room, towards the front door. As he unlocked the door, young eyes peered over a small fat forearm behind the couch. "Who are you?" asked Bobby Lee, the youngest of three. No need to lie. Kid's mom's a whore; he'll find out sooner or later. "I'm Tommie Lin, the Asian motherfucker, who rode your Mom like a fucking Chinese cowboy last night."
"Oh. I'm Bobby Lee. I'm hungry."
"Fuck you, Bobby Lee." Tommie turned the knob and stepped into the frosty night. He saw the lights of a city (Has to be Tucson.) in the distance but it was miles away. Nothing but desert in between. Dawn was at least a couple hours away.
"Fuck you and your mom." Tommie shut the door, put his hands in his pockets, and started walking.
Tommie rose to his elbows, then sat up when a raucous snore alerted him to the presence of someone else in the room. He could make out the huge bulges of pasty flesh uncovered inches beside him. Oh fuck. Who is she? His mind raced through yesterday afternoon's activities. The ASU Pregame barbeque. (5 beers and two monster keg stands.) The noon basketball game against UCLA (Flask of whiskey in each pocket) The Sigma Phi pig roast immediately afterward. (That's where it got hazy. He blacked out probably around 4 P.M.) Who is this fat fuck next me? Please tell me I didn't. He rubbed his cheek and felt a hair of unnatural length on his cheek. His face was so coated with pussy juice the pain of peeling off the wiry pubic hair woke him completely. It occurred to him that the Michelada taste in his mouth was just the combination of pussy and Miller Lite.
I have no idea who she is..., admitted Tommie. A thought quickly occurred to Tommie, and he navigated his hands through the folds of fat to feel his lover's crotch. When he found a vagina, he exhaled in relief. ...And I don't want to find out. It occurred to him that it was time to get the fuck out of dodge before this heifer roused.
Hungover as he was, he navigated his exit as stealthfully as a ninja. He spotted his vintage Atari t-shirt crumpled at the foot of the bed and his pants and underwear on the ground a couple of feet away. He slid into his pants with a dancer's grace and quickly pulled his shirt over his skinny frame. It reeked of piss and pussy. He removed it immediately. He searched for and quickly found his ASU hoodie in a empty KFC bucket in the adjoining bathroom. When he picked it up, large clumps of dried vomit flaked off the front, landing to floor with a plop, plop. Guess I'll have to wear the t-shirt. Tommie's shoes were nowhere to be found; he checked under the bed, rose too quickly, and nearly vomited (again?). He opened the bedroom door and found his Chucks in the hallway. It dawned on Tommie: This ain't the dorms at all. He had to be off-campus but he had no idea where the fuck he was.
In the bedroom across the hallway, someone sneezed from the top of the bunk bed. A family portrait hung to Tommie's left revealed his paramour's snaggletoothed, sweaty, and swollen face as well as three equally ugly and chunky children. Fuck. He'd navigate home somehow, but extrication was all that mattered to Tommie at this point. He made his way down the hall, past the living room, towards the front door. As he unlocked the door, young eyes peered over a small fat forearm behind the couch. "Who are you?" asked Bobby Lee, the youngest of three. No need to lie. Kid's mom's a whore; he'll find out sooner or later. "I'm Tommie Lin, the Asian motherfucker, who rode your Mom like a fucking Chinese cowboy last night."
"Oh. I'm Bobby Lee. I'm hungry."
"Fuck you, Bobby Lee." Tommie turned the knob and stepped into the frosty night. He saw the lights of a city (Has to be Tucson.) in the distance but it was miles away. Nothing but desert in between. Dawn was at least a couple hours away.
"Fuck you and your mom." Tommie shut the door, put his hands in his pockets, and started walking.
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