dan soulsby.
where you heading to?
at least it's cold pisswater. here's to getting away. they clink cans. the driver enters the bus. unlocks the airbrakes. puts the bus in reverse, gives it gas. boom! the engine throws a rod. horrible grinding. smoke wafts into the windows. the driver kills the engine. silence. martin and dan trade looks.
that was bad. it's gonna take all day to get another bus here. martin sighs, looks out the window.
had one. they took it away.
see that? they're all fake.
a fist. my stepdad socked me. i flew across the room and dented the sheetrock in the kitchen. my mom saw everything and still took his side.
i hate that guy. two hundred pounds of worthless grease.
i wrecked his sixty-five mustang and his boat in the same week. his babies. i totaled them.
it was worth it. but i didn't deserve the tour in hell. dan rubs his close-cropped hair.
don't ever go to military school if you can help it. it sucks. i jumped the wall two days ago.
i'm done with that racket. i'm going to seattle and playing music. martin tries the guitar, he's not that good.
think you can learn drums?
i'm the next billy squire. krokus will be opening for me one day. pow! the car hits a bottle. a front tire deflates. martin guides the crippled vehicle to the curb.
shit. dan hauls the spare from the trunk. sets the jack under the bumper. a pickup truck approaches. still a mile away. martin watches dan lean in the trunk for the tire iron. the pickup gets closer, a big one. heavy with bags of animal feed. speeding. martin looking at dan's back. martin shoves dan hard, into the highway. in front of: