Tuesday’s tale, 9/8/2015.


Alright, so I get sick a lot. Not only that but sometimes I get sick for a long time, like over a week. This is one of those times, and I missed last week because of it. (It’s pretty hard to type in bed when you’re puking your guts out if you want the full charming image.) So, still sick but I’ve levered myself up and I’ll try and write a bit for any fans I might have out there. Five minutes on the clock:

He tried to keep his stomach under control; normally Josh could drive smoothly enough to put colicky babies asleep, or so he claimed. Normally people didn’t even get carsick when Josh drove; he was just that good.

Trying to keep that equilibrium while dealing with not one, not two, but three tails, all violently smashing through traffic as if in a post-apocalyptic action movie? Not even Josh was that good. The only good news was that the first two cars had managed to take each other out, leaving the last.

The bad news was the last one was a tank of a sport utility vehicle, and the driver was the most violent of all three.

He watched ducked behind the seat, while the SUV slammed into another compact too slow to move out of its way, crushing it into a semi like an empty beer can. What was it about this rock that had everyone acting so unprofessional? Were there people out there really looking to make use out of a contact poison or disease or whatever the hell this really was?

Outside of some sort of moronic terrorist plot, he just couldn’t see it. If his life didn’t depend on the thing right now, he would already be on his way to bury the thing in a volcano. Preferably an active one.

He held on as the SUV caught up, trying a pit maneuver.

And there you have it; 3 minutes, 38 seconds, and I’m going back to bed. :p


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