Mark pulled his 1972 Ford LTD into the school parking lot. Recklessly navigated, really. The pale-yellow battleship with a 400CC engine that leaked oil like a sieve came equipped with a backseat that could hold 20 and a front seat that currently held his best friend, Todd, a dual cassette ghetto blaster and a fold down armrest, holding an empty Pepsi bottle now filled halfway with tobacco spit, and a 7-11 Big Gulp that sloshed around the hard corners. Wadded up McDonalds bags, an old pair of red Converse All-Stars, seemingly thousands of empty Copenhagen cans, a few worn baseballs, and a VERY used Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue featuring Elle Macpherson and her barely-visible-but-just-enough-to-imagine-the-rest-of best self. It was their senior year. The end was near.
Mark had grown his hair longer over the summer so there was almost zero shot to make the varsity baseball team. No matter. His metal band Dirty Fiction was his focus now. He’d sung his whole life starting in the church choir and this year he was the lead tenor in the school choir. He was a solid shortstop, but the coach didn’t have time for “undisciplined hippies”. Todd, on the other hand, was fully committed to the idea of becoming a pro. He didn’t fucking care if he ended up in a shitty minor league club. Just as long as he could play forever. Todd's parents divorced over the summer, but his pop stayed in the house. A gambling problem was indeed the problem. He had three younger brothers and a sister. It was a full house, and with the government's assistance, they thrived.
Bruce Dickinson wailed, SIX! SIX SIX! THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST! from the open window of the Battleship. Mark turned the ignition off and the 400cc engine refused to comply.
CHUG-CHUG-SPIT-CHUG.
He put it back in drive, held the brake with his left foot and gunned the gas, turned the key again, jammed it into park and she expired, letting loose a thick gray puff out of her rusty ass. Todd cranked up the dueling guitar solos and closed his eyes in ecstasy. Rachel Hill watched from the edge of the lot in disgust. Mark pulled his dip from his lower lip and flicked it towards her.
Let’s go. I can’t be late to history again. Fucking Speth will freak.
Todd set the ghetto blaster behind the seat and jammed the last of his cheeseburger into his mouth.
Rachel turned on her heels and walked towards the school.
Comments