A Story by RLHJ

The plump old waitress is caustic, screaming from behind the counter. Her heaving stomach violently juggles her saggy breasts back and forth; grocery bags of runny jell-o. We fly out the doors of the restaurant.

     I head left out into the city. Sam grabs my shoulder, swinging me back in the direction of the car. Our feet rapidly drum out a breakneck beat. Pak-pak-pak-pak, turn, pak-pak-pak-pak, pak-pak-pak-pak, pak-pak-pak-pak.  Minds and bodies shaking and burning.
     Water, saturated with the piss and vomit of the drunks and hobos, flies out from under our feet. Past light posts, past street signs. Past trash cans and doorways. Down alleys. Under bridges. Back as far as we can into the safety of the shadows.
     We finally stop behind a darkened office building; sucking, spitting, clambering for air. My lungs feel limp. My legs feel worse.
     I look over at Sam. His face is beet red and he’s gasping for air. I try to hold it in, but can’t. I start to laugh but end up coughing.
     Sam tries to talk as he’s still struggling for breath, “What, did, you, do? What the f**k, is your, problem, man? What the, f**k, were you thinking, back there?”
     What could I say? A lie? Come up with some stupid, bullshit f*****g excuse that would make what I’d done seem rational? Probably not.
     F**k it. He’d know. I wasn’t in any state to think clearly, anyway.
     I could feel him staring at me.
     Back in the diner I may have lost it. Just a little bit. Maybe. Not much seems to end well these last few days. Not much will.

© 2011 RLHJ

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Starts at 0, goes on from there.

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Added on September 26, 2011
Last Updated on September 26, 2011
Tags: titties, drugs, running, jello, violence, fiction, rv, henretty, jornales



Grand Rapids

Bikes. Pictures. Words. These are a few of my favorite things. In the last three years, I've moved about five times in three different states. I hate people from California. I'm from Michigan. I li.. more..

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A Story by RLHJ

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A Story by RLHJ

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A Story by RLHJ