It might be... IT COULD BE........... IT IS!
Welp, today is my anniversery. FOUR YEARS. Wow... boo yah.
Granola-flavored ass.
Alright, here's the second part of my "Live Vicariously" short story. Just the first draft. I still have a lot of editing to go before this whole story pieces itself together. Thankfully I still have a month before it's due.
Walter’s uninviting Toyota Camry slugged its way onto Interstate 8. The sound of front bumper scraping against the freshly paved ramp echoed around the steady turn. He fumbled with the stereo, balancing the tune knob so that it wouldn’t pop off the spindle. The stretch of highway transformed from the circle into a long stretch of three lane highway. It extended through miles of tedious highway repair, creating a congested raceway filled with agile machines cutting through the murky urban fog.
A silver Chevrolet truck blared its Dukes of Hazard horn at Walter as he crept into the fast lane. The massive four-wheel-drive road dirigible accelerated like mad past Walter, its driver offering him the worse half of the peace sign.
“Fuck you, too, buddy!” Walter retorted, throwing his first towards the windshield.
Walter finally settled on WBHD, the local station spouting off the weather, morning news, local traffic, and all the early day essentials for any rudimentary paper pusher to take in on his way to work. He pushed the cruise control button, and his car rested at a moderate speed of sixty-five miles per hour. Thoughts of the unavoidably miserable day ahead of him coursed through his head. Nine straight hours of coding websites for under-funded local businesses. Cropping pictures, aligning huge bodies of pointless text that nobody would dare read.
The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah, The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah!!!….
“Jesus…. Where the Hell is my cell phone?” Walter grumbled, fumbling through his jacket pockets for his phone. He corrected his poor steering, sending his car shaking towards the Interstate divide. The cell phone screen read “Mom & Dad.”
Walter sighed, “Just fabulous…Hello”
“WALTA’! IT’S YOUR MOTHA’! My birthday was almost a week ago and what did I get from you? Nothing! Not a call, not even a package or a card? You ungrateful slob! What gives?”
“Ma’…I sent you a package on Monday with a card. I was working late coding for that construction place on your birthday, that’s why I-”
“You’re full of it Walter! There’s no way in Hell it’d take a package more then a few days to get to your father in my’s place! What’d you do? Send it Pony Express, tie it to a pigeon’s foot?”
“God, Ma’ listen to me! I told you I was busy with work, I’m sorry I forgot your birthday. What more do you want me to say,” Walter shouted, a look of irritation growing on his face.
Light twisted its way through the small cracks between run-down apartment complexes and gigantic skyscrapers that lined both sides of the road. The median narrowed the highway into one narrow lane. Speeding cars quickly smashed their breaks, sending cars veering across lanes as they narrowed, nearly causing monstrous pile-ups. He passed under the “Delton Street: ½ mile” sign.
“Look Ma’,” Walter pleaded, “I’m almost at work, and I’m going to be late as it is. I can’t stay on the phone and yak with you. Gimme’ a call later tonight after six.”
Walter tossed his cell phone onto his passenger’s seat. He pulled off the Interstate into a limitless line of cars waiting to turn into the city. After a few minutes of driving, he pulled into the parking garage across from G&D Computer Networking services. The garage was filled with the scent Rocco’s Eatery, the Italian cuisine diner on the ground level of the parking garage.
“I’m not stopping there… I’m already late…Mustn’t eat…”
Rows and columns of freshly cleaned glass sparkled as the sunlight crept over the apex of the skyscrapers. Walter adjusted his briefcase and peered down the street for oncoming traffic. About halfway off the street, he heard a familiar tune…
The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah, The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah!!!….
“God damn it, who is it now?” Walter questioned. He fumbled through his pockets, spilling chap stick, his car keys and his work ID onto the road. His cell phone read “Work.”
“I’m right outside! Lay off! Sorry, I took a little too long getting ready this morning. Look out the window, I’m in the middle of the street.” Walter screamed into the phone, dropping his briefcase to the pavement.
“Walter, this is Gaile. I was just calling to remind you that Mr. Dyson read through your resume and said that you’re a finalist for the new managerial position.”
The bottom of Walter’s stomach sank to his feet. He gathered the belongings that fell to the road and quickly stuffed them in his pocket. Looking up at his building, Walter noticed Gaile standing in front of the center window on the fourth floor, looking down at Walter. She shook her head.
“Sorry Gaile… I’ll be inside in a minute.” He closed his cell phone. “Son of a bitch,” Walter said under his breath.
Granola-flavored ass.
Alright, here's the second part of my "Live Vicariously" short story. Just the first draft. I still have a lot of editing to go before this whole story pieces itself together. Thankfully I still have a month before it's due.
Walter’s uninviting Toyota Camry slugged its way onto Interstate 8. The sound of front bumper scraping against the freshly paved ramp echoed around the steady turn. He fumbled with the stereo, balancing the tune knob so that it wouldn’t pop off the spindle. The stretch of highway transformed from the circle into a long stretch of three lane highway. It extended through miles of tedious highway repair, creating a congested raceway filled with agile machines cutting through the murky urban fog.
A silver Chevrolet truck blared its Dukes of Hazard horn at Walter as he crept into the fast lane. The massive four-wheel-drive road dirigible accelerated like mad past Walter, its driver offering him the worse half of the peace sign.
“Fuck you, too, buddy!” Walter retorted, throwing his first towards the windshield.
Walter finally settled on WBHD, the local station spouting off the weather, morning news, local traffic, and all the early day essentials for any rudimentary paper pusher to take in on his way to work. He pushed the cruise control button, and his car rested at a moderate speed of sixty-five miles per hour. Thoughts of the unavoidably miserable day ahead of him coursed through his head. Nine straight hours of coding websites for under-funded local businesses. Cropping pictures, aligning huge bodies of pointless text that nobody would dare read.
The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah, The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah!!!….
“Jesus…. Where the Hell is my cell phone?” Walter grumbled, fumbling through his jacket pockets for his phone. He corrected his poor steering, sending his car shaking towards the Interstate divide. The cell phone screen read “Mom & Dad.”
Walter sighed, “Just fabulous…Hello”
“WALTA’! IT’S YOUR MOTHA’! My birthday was almost a week ago and what did I get from you? Nothing! Not a call, not even a package or a card? You ungrateful slob! What gives?”
“Ma’…I sent you a package on Monday with a card. I was working late coding for that construction place on your birthday, that’s why I-”
“You’re full of it Walter! There’s no way in Hell it’d take a package more then a few days to get to your father in my’s place! What’d you do? Send it Pony Express, tie it to a pigeon’s foot?”
“God, Ma’ listen to me! I told you I was busy with work, I’m sorry I forgot your birthday. What more do you want me to say,” Walter shouted, a look of irritation growing on his face.
Light twisted its way through the small cracks between run-down apartment complexes and gigantic skyscrapers that lined both sides of the road. The median narrowed the highway into one narrow lane. Speeding cars quickly smashed their breaks, sending cars veering across lanes as they narrowed, nearly causing monstrous pile-ups. He passed under the “Delton Street: ½ mile” sign.
“Look Ma’,” Walter pleaded, “I’m almost at work, and I’m going to be late as it is. I can’t stay on the phone and yak with you. Gimme’ a call later tonight after six.”
Walter tossed his cell phone onto his passenger’s seat. He pulled off the Interstate into a limitless line of cars waiting to turn into the city. After a few minutes of driving, he pulled into the parking garage across from G&D Computer Networking services. The garage was filled with the scent Rocco’s Eatery, the Italian cuisine diner on the ground level of the parking garage.
“I’m not stopping there… I’m already late…Mustn’t eat…”
Rows and columns of freshly cleaned glass sparkled as the sunlight crept over the apex of the skyscrapers. Walter adjusted his briefcase and peered down the street for oncoming traffic. About halfway off the street, he heard a familiar tune…
The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah, The shareef don't like it, Rockin' the Kasbah, Rock the Kasbah!!!….
“God damn it, who is it now?” Walter questioned. He fumbled through his pockets, spilling chap stick, his car keys and his work ID onto the road. His cell phone read “Work.”
“I’m right outside! Lay off! Sorry, I took a little too long getting ready this morning. Look out the window, I’m in the middle of the street.” Walter screamed into the phone, dropping his briefcase to the pavement.
“Walter, this is Gaile. I was just calling to remind you that Mr. Dyson read through your resume and said that you’re a finalist for the new managerial position.”
The bottom of Walter’s stomach sank to his feet. He gathered the belongings that fell to the road and quickly stuffed them in his pocket. Looking up at his building, Walter noticed Gaile standing in front of the center window on the fourth floor, looking down at Walter. She shook her head.
“Sorry Gaile… I’ll be inside in a minute.” He closed his cell phone. “Son of a bitch,” Walter said under his breath.