“Whooo!!!” Every rose has a thorn bounces off the interior of the red 1967 Mustang. Vibrations from the stereo make the words crackle. “She’ll be sorry,” he says to the darkness, stars, and the passing street lights as if these inanimate objects were his friends and would agree with his statement.
Greg Smith. Smith. What a boring name. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with his fourteen babies; Mr. and Mrs. Smith work in retail for the rest of their lives and they’ll both die penniless and alone. All the time they spent raising those kids will leave them with just each other because their kids will realize what he already knows: Mom and Dad are dull. Every now and then when his ex-girlfriend, Kim, sees him on the street she’ll stare at him because of his toned arms, legs, and chest and she will realize she should never have left him, David Gatrick, for Greg Smith. Yeah, she’ll regret her mistake.
After all, he’s the fun guy, the guy who gets things done, and who lives his life in the fast lane driving at 90 KM/hour, 100, 120 ….
David’s foot pushes on the pedal harder.
She’ll be sorry.
130, 140 ….
David’s life will be so much better than Kim’s.
Proudly, he smiles down at his bulging bicep. He’s the tougher guy, the smarter guy, the more adventurous guy with his rock climbing, skydiving, and driving fast. Dave’s a man on the move who’s always going places.
Dave places his hand on the seat next to him and begins to pat the passenger front seat in search of his cigarettes. Eyes glance over to the empty seat next to him for a second too long and his mustang pulls to the left. Fingers placed casually along the steering wheel he jolts the wheel and the whole car shifts back to the right. But he’s back in his lane. Dave chortles with laughter.
Indestructible.
Hands grapple the pack of smokes and he knocks one out of the package and places it between his teeth. Foot to the floor, he speeds down the highway at 190 KM while patting his front right blue jean pocket in search of his fire starter. Leaning to the left side, he presses the gas down and the speedometer reads 192 as he reaches into his pocket to pull the lighter out.
Deer.
Tortuous Tales 