Bottle Neck
Posted on: February 16, 2008Copyright © 2008 Sticky Pen
Running the back of one hand across my brow to mop free the beads of sweat that were daring to descend down into my eyes and across my face, I thumbed the radio to the AM emergency station with my other.As I twisted the dial on my 1989 T-bird’s analog radio, I squinted my eyes against the late summer sun bearing down on me through my car’s open roof, as if piercing my vision would in some way help me hear through the static of the distant airwaves. Eventually the transmission caught the station and creaked through my failing speakers clearly enough to be discerned.Evidently, a dump truck had overturned a few exits up ahead, blocking three of the four westbound lanes. “Great”, I mumbled to myself while turning the radio back to the greatest hits of the 70s station I’d been listening to since I crossed the state line.I was on my way to Memphis to ‘visit’ my old college roommate. By ‘visit’, of course, I meant to take up residence on his couch until I figured out what the hell to do with this next stage of my life. I’d been fired from the restaurant I’d been washing dishes for in Lexington because the owner caught me getting blown by the fry-cook back in dry storage at the end of my shift. He freaked out and said he didn’t want any sodomites around the food he served his customers. Fuckin’ Bible belt. Everyone around here is so goddamned uptight.Around ...
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