Arctic Monkeys. Are You Mine?
The Little Lion Man pulled out all of the stones from the
pockets of his leather jacket and placed them into two piles just in front of
him. As he kneeled, he heard sirens off
in distance grow louder.
The rush of adrenaline flooded his veins. He smiled.
He grabbed handfuls of those stones and threw them will all
of his might, from his left hand and his right, aiming for the furthest ones
away on the second level of the parking garage.
The second level was not like the lowest one, because the
exit path had a downward grade to it. It
was not level at all.
As his arms grew exhausted from each winged motion of his
arms, he grabbed the last handfuls and ran down between the two rows of these
parked cars.
Many of these vehicles awoke from their slumber with fright
and alarm. Some did not. He pelted the quiet ones with his stones and
almost all of them joined the rest in their obnoxious chorus.
He turned around and saw that seven were still silent.
He ran back towards his starting point, looking left and
right. He ignored the sleeping vehicles
that looked to be expensive. Those would
be difficult to hard-wire.
He saw one particular pick-up truck, and it was a
Mazda. He grinned and ran towards
it. This was the One. This small vehicle would be his savior, his
escape pod.
He fingered her button and pulled on the door handle, and
she opened up.
He reached in and pulled the stick shift out of gear, and
released the parking brake handle and then threw himself to the floor of the
diver’s side foot well.
On his back, he felt around under the dashboard for the
wires plugged into the ignition chassis.
He would need only the brown one and the red one.
He yanked all of the wires from the ignition chassis and
pulled them out into view, and saw the two he needed via the bright lights of
the flashing and honking vehicles in the whole side of this second level. He twisted the brown and the red wire tips
together, and the there came a sound of rapid clicking from the engine compartment.
He jumped back up and pushed the small Mazda out of its
parking space and turned the steering wheel towards the downward grade.
Exit and escape.
Gravity got that small pick-up rolling, so he hopped back in
held down the clutch, and threw the stick shift into first gear.
The brown wire on a 1982 Mazda pick-up leads to the
alternator, and that is what provides the engine with electrical juice. He knew that he could jump start the truck
before the condenser and points got fried.
She awoke when he let go of the clutch petal. She chugged and coughed, and then he gave her
some fuel.
The Little Lion Man roared with delight.
He pulled out of the parking garage of the hostibal and did
not head to the exit. Instead, he drove
down to a side street, where the service vehicles went in their daily visits to
the supply docks. He followed this
dimly-lit route to the safety of escape, just as police cars entered the
parking area from behind.
Once he drove past the loading docks, he flicked on the head
lamps to the Mazda truck.
The Lion Man had flown the coop, you see.
+ + +
+ + + +
The cold bars pressed against Bryan’s
back as he stared down at the metal bunk that was bolted to the wall. His shadow flickered and wavered before him
on the floor from the watery blue light of the lamp posts outside that shined
through the silky fingers of rain streaming across the bullet-proof double
panes.
His sentence was not quite as long as that previous
one.
Bryan would be
released from jail in thirty six hours, but it was not soon enough.
He knew that some very bad things had happened, and these
were not quite the same as the previous ones, but they were related to them.
He also felt, in his bones, something else.
It was the pain of an old man who witnesses the change of
the weather in his joints.
His friend had died.
And now, she was whispering to him in his icy, cement
cell.
It was an alliterance of sibilance.
+ + +
+ + + +
Tellesco drove that iron casket like a demon form hell. He had this look in his eye that showed me
his resolve. I’d told him that Sean
would be Ok, that he was in the company of help.
But really, I had no clue about that.
I had no fucking clue at all.
It seemed to me that Sean was different now. I had witnessed his change, and I knew for
certain that those who were now attending to his wounds would soon discover
that the young dude was not quite right in his head.
He had taken a bump to the noggin
When you have been hit in the front left cerebral cortex,
you may experience a change in your personality. A hit on the right side may cause you to
become erratic, without logic.
But if you get hit hard enough on the top…
…well, your brain wiring may become re-negotiated.
You may open up your portal to allow in a Walkin, and you
will have to simply take a back seat, in your own head, if you are still there.
I didn’t know any of this at the time, but we would all find
out.
It was because of all the shit that happened after.
- - -
- - - -
“Hello, this is Trish Tocker, and we have some news for
you folks who are up all night. Evidently, one of the cars that was
stolen from this awesome explosions up to the north of Fuckno where I am
currently getting all wet has appeared at a hostibal that we are not allowed to
name, due to the newness of this news, but it rhymes with “Maint Sary’s.” Evidently, the driver dropped off the body
of a dead girl, and then he left on foot.
Police are now on the lookout for this mass-murderer and perhaps his
cohorts. Please stay tuned. We will show you images of everything as soon as we can get them. Back to you in the studio, so you folks there can do some
anal-is-sees, which is a circle-jerk that involves back rubs and unfounded
conclusions that will all make us feel better about ourselves until the truth
comes out.”
Huh.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
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