And I was growing tired of Moose.
He had proven over and over again that he was just anothersnake in the grass.
It had the worn look of a neighborhood bar that had been there a while.
As soon as they find out we’re northerners from Massachusetts, they’ll wanna kick our asses.
On the way back, I took a detour and decided to walk by that bar one last time.
It had been months since I got a haircut.
I was lifting every day and drinking a lot of beer, and I got fuckin' huge.
He turned and motioned for me to come in.
“He nodded yes.
Once we got past the brief intro and shared a handshake, he asked me where I was from.
I didn’t hesitate,“Massachusetts.
“But I told him I was currently living right down the street.
He immediately bought me a beer and introduced me to some of his friends, including the bartender.
They wouldn’t let me pay for my beer.
I spent a couple of hours there, and by the time I left, I was hammered.
You got my smokes?”
I tossed him his smokes and told him about my experience at the redneck bar.
How I drank for free and met lots of locals and some hot redneck women.
He just shook his head in disbelief.
If he went in, he definitely would’ve pissed someone off and got his ass kicked…
While I was gone, Moose had found an agency that hired people to drive cars to specific destinations.
The owners of the vehicles paid them, and they paid the drivers.
There were driving record checks, and you had to be at least 21.
They gave us two and a half days to get the car to Massachusetts.
We had absolutely no intention of abiding by the contract.
The girl at theFotomatsold us a bag of weed for the trip, but she didn’t deal inspeed.
For that, we had to call Tom.
We hadn’t seen or heard from him in months.
For all we knew, he crashed his Kawasaki at high speed and was dead.
Then, one night, he picked up.
He said he had some speed and could take a ride by and drop it off.
Tom arrived on his Kawasaki the following day.
He said he was enrolled in a government program and receiving help for his PTSD.
The car was a newer, light-green Cutlass in perfect condition.
Because who steals a bumper hitch?
We picked up the U-Haul trailer at my father’s warehouse.
It was the first time I’d spoken to him since he laid me and Moose off.
I mounted the bumper hitch on the Cutlass and hooked up the wires in the parking lot.
We had beer and weed, and we were revved up on speed.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…
