Settling into the restroom with the key I ripped from the poor little
girl's hand, I worked the squeaking rust that remained of the hot water
knob. Through the bolts of pain I managed to wash the green ooze from
my hands so as not to infect myself any further. The treachery in this
group is becoming alarming. Not only have I fallen behind the pack of
real competitors, but now Thad, I still can't believe any loving parent
would name their child that, had even gone as far as to sabotage my
sports drink. Granted on any other occasion I would have found the
sneaking of moonshine into a sports drink humorous as I came back from a
light jog or after a game of tennis in the park, before the elbow
shattering mugging on Vine two weeks ago, but under these circumstances,
unforgivable.
In the midst of my desperate dash down Oak to keep
ahead of the pack and sweating profusely from the extra sprint after the
junk yard fiasco. I was in need of a refreshing sports drink after a
rough patch, but a burning, choking, gagging sensation sending me
lurching over the curb and through a poor hot dog vendor's cart was what
I received. In all of my experience in the "dangerous city", as my
mother called it when I moved here, I never thought the worst weapon I
would be attacked with would be scalding hot dog water and a
surprisingly sharp set of tongs wielded by an angry Hungarian man.
"I'm telling the clerk! I was here first and I need the bathroom as much you do."
Whipped from my memories, I find myself lying next to a trash can with
no lid overflowing with paper towels and an empty condom wrapper. I
guess this is a unisex restroom. I only wish that were the most
alarming thing I found on that floor. I don't suggest going through gas
station restroom trash cans without a HAZMAT suit on, but I couldn't
help myself from dragging the bright pink wig from the trash buried
beneath what originally looked like someone had a bloody nose and used
paper towels to clean up the mess. I only had to dig a bit further to
find the piggy mask. The people I work with are so weird.
"Is there a problem in there?"
A man's voice now. Possibly the man at the counter that told me to
"puke at someone else's place of work" obviously smelling the alcohol
emanating from my breath, my shirt, my hair, my shoes, my shorts and
anywhere else on me not gracefully protected from the green spewing that
had occurred from my refreshment. Pull it together, you've only been
delayed by... 35 minutes! Had it really been that long? How do I lose
so much time so quickly? I was five minutes ahead of pace before the
quarter point. The quarter point, the masked assault, the drink fiasco
and the bridge collapse. No time left to waste on vomiting and
exhaustion. Time for the fast track.
"Don't come back, you bitch!"
A parting sentiment after the door kick I used unintentionally breaks
his nose. The little girl is nowhere to be found. She must not have
needed the restroom as much as I did after all. Or maybe I was wrong.
In my full sprint around the corner, I run headlong into a pink bike
with a ribbons and a banana seat. No girl in sight. Just the bike
almost strategically placed across the sidewalk as if she knew I'd come
barreling around the corner with no chance of stopping.
Before I
know it, I'm pedaling as fast as I can away from the store front. I'm
losing small pieces of time with each consistent spill and blackout.
Tripping over the bike was my latest along with some form of reasoning
that gave me possession of the offending bike. I'm nearly 40 minutes
behind and I don't have much choice. On top of that, these training
wheels may be slowing me down more than the sports drink.
As I begin
to shift my weight back and forth frantically as I try to make up time
and break the training wheels off by force, I vaguely notice the sound
of an engine running all out coming from somewhere near.. Luckily the
right training wheel finally snapped off after far too much pressure
causing the little pink rocket to take a sharp right turn. Just as the
front wheel hits the sidewalk followed by the left training wheel
snapping off, I tumble forward off of the bike landing just soon enough
to see the cab the sped by me, turn sharply without slowing down and take
a missile launch into the brick building ahead of me.
Contrary to
the intent, it would seem the training wheels nearly cost me my life
today. It's only a bit after I stand up that I realize where the cab
embedded itself to my amusement. Fitting end, I guess.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Races 002: In service...
I stood staring at the crumbling brick slowing uncovering the desks
where I sat the week before scouting a route, opening an account and
walking out with a brand new bottle cozy and beach ball. A brick
dangling from 10 feet up dropped pointedly onto the light atop of the
cab causing a sparking, breaking of glass and the decidedly accurate Not
In Service light to switch on.
We picked 3/4 Bank for it's location near the course and for how busy it usually is giving us ample time to sit in a bank manager's office staring out the windows at the streets being blocked off for Sunday's big run. I had to endure the benefits of direct deposit checking along with how great the tiered interest rates system for MaximumSuperSavingsSupreme accounts were. I was to set up an account to keep suspicion aside if anything ever came back to what were we doing the days leading up to the race to give credibility to why I was here. $200 would be enough and I could easily close the account at a later date without any penalty according to my SuperSavings Associate Kent.
Kent had a gap tooth grin but the gap wasn't between the front two teeth like normal people. He had an unearned swagger walking through the office shaking his ass like he was spreading incense to the people with it. He was God's gift to women if you're an atheist. A mullet would have completed his package nicely.
"Why don't you let me put down the initial minimum deposit for you and see what kind of interest I can earn."
Never one to cause a scene, I pretended not to notice the gesture and silently laid the check in front of him and told him, "No, thank you." It took the strength of the chair as I clenched the arms of the chair to prevent myself from making a scene. It gave my some small sense of satisfaction to watch Kent's nameplate now embedded in the windshield of the cab that tried to run me down. If I ever see Edward again, he'll be on the business end of the tazer my mother bought for me when I told her I was moving to the big city.
It had seemed for about an hour now that there was no longer a team atmosphere. After the misdirection from John and the coffee fiasco with Jen, nothing surprised me after that. Not even the lead up that led to Cab 626 racing into the 3/4 Bank really surprised me at this point. Startled, yes. Scared the living hell out of me, of course. But everything seems feasible given our scam and odd congregation of players. $300,000 can turn most anyone a little deviant. Even Pastor Conners had his part in this. Churches need money too. I suppose that's why I didn't even blink when a couple of the choir boys appeared next to the crushed cab with baseball bats. When the first one swung at me, that was a bit of a surprise.
As I narrowly dodged the second swing, I noticed the cab at end of the block with Edward in it. There was no traffic, but it had stopped so Edward could watch the choir boys do their job as he was well aware of what they were there for.
As tired as I was from the crash he had caused, I began a full out sprint for his cab. He was not expecting that as his eyes grew to twice their size and he began frantically screaming at the cab driver to drive. I can imagine screaming is a little distracting to any driver. Quite obviously, this driver was not ready for the task at hand as he stepped on the gas for approximately 12 seconds before the delivery truck completed the T and the cab began to roll.
The desired effect was achieved for the rest of the team as I stood watching the cab tumble with Edward inside. The choirboys began to run away realizing the ramifications of being a part of this. I imagine some Hail Mary's were flying as the feet hit to pavement and the sound of wooden bats hitting the street rang behind the crushing of steel.
I stood in disbelief at the cab now swaying back and forth on its roof for about 3 minutes of wondering and worrying if Edward was alright. I wanted him to suffer for the betrayal, but I didn't want him to die. Maimed and beaten, but not dismantled. If he had taken a gear shift to the groin in the roll, that was preferable as well, but death was more than I was willing to live with.
The scenarios began to run through my head of the questioning by the police, the looks of his family and the abject denial by the rest of the team of any knowledge of Edward when the screeching of metal began again. Edward's face was now clear and the blood dripping down his forehead could not disguise the rage he now felt towards the one the had to be to blame for his current condition. No one blames themselves.
It was now almost 10 am and the regular runners were getting near to the end and it was time to get moving if any of us was going to even come close to matching the real runners for the prize. Edward just gave me a little more motivation as a I rushed the corner and took down the nearest alley heading towards the finish line.
We picked 3/4 Bank for it's location near the course and for how busy it usually is giving us ample time to sit in a bank manager's office staring out the windows at the streets being blocked off for Sunday's big run. I had to endure the benefits of direct deposit checking along with how great the tiered interest rates system for MaximumSuperSavingsSupreme accounts were. I was to set up an account to keep suspicion aside if anything ever came back to what were we doing the days leading up to the race to give credibility to why I was here. $200 would be enough and I could easily close the account at a later date without any penalty according to my SuperSavings Associate Kent.
Kent had a gap tooth grin but the gap wasn't between the front two teeth like normal people. He had an unearned swagger walking through the office shaking his ass like he was spreading incense to the people with it. He was God's gift to women if you're an atheist. A mullet would have completed his package nicely.
"Why don't you let me put down the initial minimum deposit for you and see what kind of interest I can earn."
Never one to cause a scene, I pretended not to notice the gesture and silently laid the check in front of him and told him, "No, thank you." It took the strength of the chair as I clenched the arms of the chair to prevent myself from making a scene. It gave my some small sense of satisfaction to watch Kent's nameplate now embedded in the windshield of the cab that tried to run me down. If I ever see Edward again, he'll be on the business end of the tazer my mother bought for me when I told her I was moving to the big city.
It had seemed for about an hour now that there was no longer a team atmosphere. After the misdirection from John and the coffee fiasco with Jen, nothing surprised me after that. Not even the lead up that led to Cab 626 racing into the 3/4 Bank really surprised me at this point. Startled, yes. Scared the living hell out of me, of course. But everything seems feasible given our scam and odd congregation of players. $300,000 can turn most anyone a little deviant. Even Pastor Conners had his part in this. Churches need money too. I suppose that's why I didn't even blink when a couple of the choir boys appeared next to the crushed cab with baseball bats. When the first one swung at me, that was a bit of a surprise.
As I narrowly dodged the second swing, I noticed the cab at end of the block with Edward in it. There was no traffic, but it had stopped so Edward could watch the choir boys do their job as he was well aware of what they were there for.
As tired as I was from the crash he had caused, I began a full out sprint for his cab. He was not expecting that as his eyes grew to twice their size and he began frantically screaming at the cab driver to drive. I can imagine screaming is a little distracting to any driver. Quite obviously, this driver was not ready for the task at hand as he stepped on the gas for approximately 12 seconds before the delivery truck completed the T and the cab began to roll.
The desired effect was achieved for the rest of the team as I stood watching the cab tumble with Edward inside. The choirboys began to run away realizing the ramifications of being a part of this. I imagine some Hail Mary's were flying as the feet hit to pavement and the sound of wooden bats hitting the street rang behind the crushing of steel.
I stood in disbelief at the cab now swaying back and forth on its roof for about 3 minutes of wondering and worrying if Edward was alright. I wanted him to suffer for the betrayal, but I didn't want him to die. Maimed and beaten, but not dismantled. If he had taken a gear shift to the groin in the roll, that was preferable as well, but death was more than I was willing to live with.
The scenarios began to run through my head of the questioning by the police, the looks of his family and the abject denial by the rest of the team of any knowledge of Edward when the screeching of metal began again. Edward's face was now clear and the blood dripping down his forehead could not disguise the rage he now felt towards the one the had to be to blame for his current condition. No one blames themselves.
It was now almost 10 am and the regular runners were getting near to the end and it was time to get moving if any of us was going to even come close to matching the real runners for the prize. Edward just gave me a little more motivation as a I rushed the corner and took down the nearest alley heading towards the finish line.
Races 001: It's the end my friend...the only end
Savagely racing down the alley as if there were any point to my
destination at this stage. I knew everything that would happen. I knew
that just as well as everything that had already been. Edward was dead
to me, possibly even dead dead, but he still had me curious as to how
this thing would end.
A bottle rocket glanced my thigh as I turned the corner into the middle of small neighborhood testing out their fireworks for the Fourth of July on North Raleigh. The name only works in a soft Southern accent, I admit, but I still found it catchy as I hurdled the 9 year old's huddled in front of beer bottle with a lighter. Not a single one of them seemed to notice that I was even there much less apologized for the friendly fire taken recently. All this for a cat.
Slipping down the narrow gap between 945 and 947, I glance back and catch my last glimpse of Edward before a flaming dart knocks him backwards out of sight. Years of taunting for having no coordination and forgetting to buy a cup once and a group of young boys finally helps me out. Karma does exist, just ask Kent.
At the first fire escape, I was cautious, but by the second one, I had begun to focus more on my burning lungs and the burned section of my jeans when a sharp pain at the top of my head and the smell of the broken Miller bottle on the ground reached my nostrils. Almost as fascinating as the sharp blinding shouts from my scalp was how I managed to track how close I was to the ground at each passing moment by the strength of the beer smell. Three clouds chased each other shaped like cars for about 20 seconds before my vision faded for what I would find was only a 1 minute and 25 seconds.
"It's exactly how long it takes to sing the first verse of 'She Bangs' before the chorus which is just when you woke up. I watched you fall and came over inspired. Do you love Ricky Martin too? I also enjoy a mix of cotton candy and vicadin."
It was Tammy's odd sense of humor. I'm glad we all decided to do this together even if it turned out less like a marathon and more like the rush on Normandy beach. I guess that's what happens when you stray 10 miles off course the official course in hopes of winning the big prize. Even a scam to beat the system by deviating just enough to get to the checkpoints without running the full course couldn't keep us together. Everyone wants to be Black Cat. Everybody wants the glory without the pain.
It's only fair that Tammy and I sat there and watched the race end just twenty yards down an alley from the homestretch. To be fair, Champ never looked so happy to come in second in all his life. I just hope I don't have an infection from the steel ladder of the fire escape. I guess we could all be winners after all...except for Edward. His t-shirt is still smoldering to this day.
A bottle rocket glanced my thigh as I turned the corner into the middle of small neighborhood testing out their fireworks for the Fourth of July on North Raleigh. The name only works in a soft Southern accent, I admit, but I still found it catchy as I hurdled the 9 year old's huddled in front of beer bottle with a lighter. Not a single one of them seemed to notice that I was even there much less apologized for the friendly fire taken recently. All this for a cat.
Slipping down the narrow gap between 945 and 947, I glance back and catch my last glimpse of Edward before a flaming dart knocks him backwards out of sight. Years of taunting for having no coordination and forgetting to buy a cup once and a group of young boys finally helps me out. Karma does exist, just ask Kent.
At the first fire escape, I was cautious, but by the second one, I had begun to focus more on my burning lungs and the burned section of my jeans when a sharp pain at the top of my head and the smell of the broken Miller bottle on the ground reached my nostrils. Almost as fascinating as the sharp blinding shouts from my scalp was how I managed to track how close I was to the ground at each passing moment by the strength of the beer smell. Three clouds chased each other shaped like cars for about 20 seconds before my vision faded for what I would find was only a 1 minute and 25 seconds.
"It's exactly how long it takes to sing the first verse of 'She Bangs' before the chorus which is just when you woke up. I watched you fall and came over inspired. Do you love Ricky Martin too? I also enjoy a mix of cotton candy and vicadin."
It was Tammy's odd sense of humor. I'm glad we all decided to do this together even if it turned out less like a marathon and more like the rush on Normandy beach. I guess that's what happens when you stray 10 miles off course the official course in hopes of winning the big prize. Even a scam to beat the system by deviating just enough to get to the checkpoints without running the full course couldn't keep us together. Everyone wants to be Black Cat. Everybody wants the glory without the pain.
It's only fair that Tammy and I sat there and watched the race end just twenty yards down an alley from the homestretch. To be fair, Champ never looked so happy to come in second in all his life. I just hope I don't have an infection from the steel ladder of the fire escape. I guess we could all be winners after all...except for Edward. His t-shirt is still smoldering to this day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
