Looks like your truck just had its period.
Beneath the hood of Tommy's truck was a bloody mess. His asshat roommate, Copper, was chortling behind him with a pretend Southern accent, sipping a warm beer in the chilly mid morning sunlight, wearing flip-flops with jeans.
What the...
What the...
It was cold last night, man. Probably a stray cat crawled in there to stay warm.
...fuck me.
Copper closed in toward the truck and stood next to Tommy. A bloody mess was an understatement, really. It was more like certain number of bloody messes had combined themselves. A vicious holocaust of mysterious body parts and blood.
Ooh. Maybe like a dozen cats.
Squinting through his hangover, Tommy considered the idea of twelve cats beneath the hood of his truck, becoming mangled, exploding as the motor attempted to start up while clogged with them laced throughout it. He had little to no mechanical skill, hardly ever managing even to check his oil. He pulled a length of unrecognizable bone from an unrecognizable engine part, dropping it back in almost immediately as his finger settled against the strips of sticky, hairy flesh that it was attached to. Confused and disgusted, somewhere in the back of his aching skull he registered that Copper was continuing to talk in that silly voice, crouching now to look beneath the automobile.
Oh man it's all leakin down below here. Rainin. Floodin the delta.
Unable to bring himself to crouch, Tommy hesitantly touched the engine's top again, if only for the reason that he felt he needed to do something. The entire machine slick with gore above and underneath. What could it have been? Slimy lacerated skin stretched across the fan belt.
Squinting through his hangover, Tommy considered the idea of twelve cats beneath the hood of his truck, becoming mangled, exploding as the motor attempted to start up while clogged with them laced throughout it. He had little to no mechanical skill, hardly ever managing even to check his oil. He pulled a length of unrecognizable bone from an unrecognizable engine part, dropping it back in almost immediately as his finger settled against the strips of sticky, hairy flesh that it was attached to. Confused and disgusted, somewhere in the back of his aching skull he registered that Copper was continuing to talk in that silly voice, crouching now to look beneath the automobile.
Oh man it's all leakin down below here. Rainin. Floodin the delta.
Unable to bring himself to crouch, Tommy hesitantly touched the engine's top again, if only for the reason that he felt he needed to do something. The entire machine slick with gore above and underneath. What could it have been? Slimy lacerated skin stretched across the fan belt.
This truck is like a Cronenberg truck.
Give me that beer, Copper.
Copper told Tommy that there was another open one on his nightstand but then gave him the one in his hand anyway.
It's warm.
Tommy took a sip without taking his eyes off the truck's guts. He didn't mind the warm beer because it was probably keeping him from shaking.
I can't move it for street cleaning now. How am I gonna move it for street cleaning?
It's warm.
Tommy took a sip without taking his eyes off the truck's guts. He didn't mind the warm beer because it was probably keeping him from shaking.
I can't move it for street cleaning now. How am I gonna move it for street cleaning?
Tommy kind of heard Copper say something over his shoulder. He was heading back up the stoop to retrieve his other beverage from inside, flip-flops flapping against his heels.
Tommy turned to stare with a squished up and frustrated face.
I said I'll get Danno up and we'll help you push it.
It... can’t...
The door shut behind Copper and Tommy sat down on the sidewalk. Copper, wasn't an asshat. He was being helpful. Tommy just got frustrated with him a lot. His whole lazy California art school vibe, how he addressed himself by his last name, and how he was a lovable goof all of the time was infuriating in its particular way. The sidewalk was uncomfortably cold through his sweatpants, but he didn't move. From this vantage, with his head turned toward the curb, he could see the dripping violence beneath his truck. Little bits of gritty sashimi looking blobs lay scattered on the ground, veiny and pink and red. He pulled on his beer and clutched his forehead and looked away dramatically.
Twenty minutes until the street sweepers would show up. Nothing parked on this side of the street but his truck and a Saab covered in bumper stickers. Primus. Mean people suck. Obama/Biden '08. Chrome Ohm Tattoo. I <3 My Rat: Rat Fan Club Member. The world 'coexist' spelled out with religious symbols. Those fucking Grateful Dead bears. BUMPER STICKER. Ween. Free Leonard Peltier. Honk if you don't exist.
Fuck.
Tommy thumbed the keys in his pajama pockets, feeling the comfort in their weight. The things he owned and his access to them. He spoke Honk if you don’t exist aloud.
I said I'll get Danno up and we'll help you push it.
It... can’t...
The door shut behind Copper and Tommy sat down on the sidewalk. Copper, wasn't an asshat. He was being helpful. Tommy just got frustrated with him a lot. His whole lazy California art school vibe, how he addressed himself by his last name, and how he was a lovable goof all of the time was infuriating in its particular way. The sidewalk was uncomfortably cold through his sweatpants, but he didn't move. From this vantage, with his head turned toward the curb, he could see the dripping violence beneath his truck. Little bits of gritty sashimi looking blobs lay scattered on the ground, veiny and pink and red. He pulled on his beer and clutched his forehead and looked away dramatically.
Twenty minutes until the street sweepers would show up. Nothing parked on this side of the street but his truck and a Saab covered in bumper stickers. Primus. Mean people suck. Obama/Biden '08. Chrome Ohm Tattoo. I <3 My Rat: Rat Fan Club Member. The world 'coexist' spelled out with religious symbols. Those fucking Grateful Dead bears. BUMPER STICKER. Ween. Free Leonard Peltier. Honk if you don't exist.
Fuck.
Tommy thumbed the keys in his pajama pockets, feeling the comfort in their weight. The things he owned and his access to them. He spoke Honk if you don’t exist aloud.
Fuck this.
His confusion had abated and he was getting angry. Too much of last night's gin still gurgled sickly in his stomach. A coarse aching in his brain, like someone had opened up his head, thrown in a dirty napkin and left it. He chewed his tongue and flopped back fully onto the cement, closing his eyes with his arms outstretched in a martyr's pose. The pain of the post imbibe flowed over him. It was awful. He twitched briefly in protest of his condition. Everything was awful. What an awful world. A parking ticket in this city runs around three-hundred dollars. He wondered how he looked there on the awful sidewalk. He tried to envision an overhead view as if a bird, God, or a drone. He wasn’t gonna move for a few minutes.
Fuck this truck.
In an attempt to beautify the neighborhood the city had installed infant trees in a number of little dirt and cigarette butt filled squares along its sidewalks. Two weeks ago he'd stood in roughly the same spot that he lay at that moment, and watched some balding tweaker with a big ponytail roaring, whipping down every struggling sapling with a bicycle chain, his hair a majestic ribbon dancing behind him.
Abide me! Abide me!
That was what the big ponytail'd guy had been belting out. It made some sense to Tommy and it was a shame about the trees, but the whipping of the chain and the man's baritone hollering hit him like a deep religious mantra or a really great post-punk song. He pictured the man’s hair again. It, wisp of smoke, a river, a whip, flying on its course.
Opening his eyes was unpleasant. The sky was a horrid pale white curtain that burned his retinas. He sat upright digging his palms into his eyes, not bothering to brush the cement's grit off of his back. Once again his focus was on the creature that his truck had detonated across the asphalt beneath.
Fuck truck truck fuck.
Abide me! Abide me!
That was what the big ponytail'd guy had been belting out. It made some sense to Tommy and it was a shame about the trees, but the whipping of the chain and the man's baritone hollering hit him like a deep religious mantra or a really great post-punk song. He pictured the man’s hair again. It, wisp of smoke, a river, a whip, flying on its course.
Opening his eyes was unpleasant. The sky was a horrid pale white curtain that burned his retinas. He sat upright digging his palms into his eyes, not bothering to brush the cement's grit off of his back. Once again his focus was on the creature that his truck had detonated across the asphalt beneath.
Fuck truck truck fuck.
What had the animal been? Really a cat? Draining the beer Copper had left him with he stood up completely. He'd occasionally see raccoons in inner city alleys, and one time an actual horse, but that clearly wasn't what had crawled under his hood. He was still intensely aggravated. It maddened him that he had no idea what mutilated thing had merged with his truck engine, what kind of sticky bone he had just touched, why he had seen a lone horse in an alleyway off of Larkin Street. He felt a kinship with the big ponytail'd guy who'd ruined all the trees, a violent urge for a kinship with his surroundings, though having none. Pushing his tongue between his teeth to keep them from grinding, he pictured that same overhead angle as he opened up the driver side door to retrieve the three gallon gasoline container he kept dangerously lodged behind the seat.
The gasoline container had a heft to it that cheered him up immediately; the scent of it pleasing him even more so as he unscrewed the cap. Something like a smile touched his lips and he stretched his jaw to keep his molars from touching, sticking out his tongue as he did. Absolutely aware of this weird emoting of enthusiasm, he intentionally froze the gargoyle expression onto his face. His wounded and protesting conscious fought to catch up with what his body was about to be doing as Copper returned.
Haha, what the fuck are you doing?
Sup with your face?
Danno spoke sleep eyed, shirtless and barefoot at the top of their stoop, taking a long drag off a Camel wide while waiting on a response. He was not prepared to move a truck. Copper's jaw hung half open in the doorway behind him. Tommy kept his back turned to them both, pacing around the truck front with a silly little goblin walk, eyes on the bloodied engine. Red brown whorled across the parts, refusing to mix with the fuel he was pouring into it.
The gasoline container had a heft to it that cheered him up immediately; the scent of it pleasing him even more so as he unscrewed the cap. Something like a smile touched his lips and he stretched his jaw to keep his molars from touching, sticking out his tongue as he did. Absolutely aware of this weird emoting of enthusiasm, he intentionally froze the gargoyle expression onto his face. His wounded and protesting conscious fought to catch up with what his body was about to be doing as Copper returned.
Haha, what the fuck are you doing?
Sup with your face?
Danno spoke sleep eyed, shirtless and barefoot at the top of their stoop, taking a long drag off a Camel wide while waiting on a response. He was not prepared to move a truck. Copper's jaw hung half open in the doorway behind him. Tommy kept his back turned to them both, pacing around the truck front with a silly little goblin walk, eyes on the bloodied engine. Red brown whorled across the parts, refusing to mix with the fuel he was pouring into it.
He was sane when I left him.
Looks fine to me.
Emptied, the plastic gasoline container hollowly clattering into the gutter. Tommy put himself atop the stoop with his friends. His motions were entirely intentional though at the same time unthinking. Some vague part of him was aware that he needed to move on this course of action before he could stop himself, before anyone could talk sense. He reached for Danno's cig, who retracted at first, but only to take one final suck before handing it over. Danno didn't give a fuck.
Wait.
Copper's hesitance went unheard though. Tommy had already returned to the sidewalk. To Copper and Danno the lit cigarette seemed to momentarily freeze in its flight between his hand and the open hood. Managing to produce his smartphone, which Danno had tucked into the elastic band of his boxer-briefs, he framed up a picture.
Oooo.
Blue and yellow flame spread across the face of the truck, resting only briefly before an explosion of heat and black smoke and bright fire overtook the entire front end. Shielding his face from the anarchy Tommy spun a surprisingly and graceful pirouette, halted with his back to the burning, and vomited a pale peach stream of beer, gin, and stomach acid onto the cement just as the digital click of Danno's camera app enunciated itself.
Oh hohoho I fucking got that!! Damn!!
Danno grinned enormously into the tiny screen he held, Copper straining to see over his shoulder.
Oh fuck hahaha!
Wiping his lips Tommy stepped over his sick and planted himself on the bottom of the stoop step, exhausted. Danno was sitting next to him in a second, shoving his phone into Tommy's face.
Look at this shit! So. Fucking. Good, son!!
Oh hohoho I fucking got that!! Damn!!
Danno grinned enormously into the tiny screen he held, Copper straining to see over his shoulder.
Oh fuck hahaha!
Wiping his lips Tommy stepped over his sick and planted himself on the bottom of the stoop step, exhausted. Danno was sitting next to him in a second, shoving his phone into Tommy's face.
Look at this shit! So. Fucking. Good, son!!
Danno wasn't a bad shot in general. His social media accounts had been entertaining portraits of debaucherous contemporary urbanity for some time now; enough for a few hundred people to keep open tabs on him. Looking into the cracked smartphone screen Tommy saw himself, one eye half open and the other bulging, backlit by the enormous blaze that cracked and stank before them at that very moment. Watery projectile vomit mid-air, mid-stream, cast its faint arcing shadow before his feet. Coal colored smoke rose from the truck, past the fragmented spears of former trees jutting from their places in the sidewalk, and above, its trail leaving a bulbous stain on the blinding haze of sky at the top of the frame. He gulped and coughed and wiped his chin.
Guh. Fuck you send me that. I'm posting that. It’s my truck.
Copper chimed in, still peering over their shoulders at the screen.
Daaaaaaamn man.
Neighbors were sticking their heads out the windows now. Some came down to their stoops as well. Most of them were also taking pictures with their phones, but as Tommy looked them over he didn't see anyone talking on one. Was anybody calling cops or firemen?
Guh. Fuck you send me that. I'm posting that. It’s my truck.
Copper chimed in, still peering over their shoulders at the screen.
Daaaaaaamn man.
Neighbors were sticking their heads out the windows now. Some came down to their stoops as well. Most of them were also taking pictures with their phones, but as Tommy looked them over he didn't see anyone talking on one. Was anybody calling cops or firemen?
Send it.
I am. Now.
Tommy watched Danno's thumbs swipe around on the little screen just to be sure.
Sent. You have to tag me though. I took it.
The burning truck suddenly hissed loudly. Copper, the only one of the three who'd turned back to really watching at that moment, retreated a couple of steps up the porch. A sudden increase in temperature prompted the other two to follow.
The tires are melting.
Shit stinks, man.
Are you sure you should post that? You blew up your truck.
Tommy felt charged. He told Copper it was worth it while Danno poked on his phone a bit more.
A crowd was accruing. The charred hunk of metal was melting itself into the gutter. Tommy imagined the bones of the mysterious animal (animals?) beneath the hood blackening, and he wondered what kind of questions he'd soon be answering from the FD, PD, and insurers. He could hear the street sweepers whirrrr, turning corners a few blocks away. He assumed that they'd soon be stalling at his hippie neighbor's unmoved car, taking in the smoldering mess he'd left. The surrounding crowd was chattering. Like Gustave Dore's depictions of Dante's damned, their expressions hung in rote wear. Somewhere in the distance was a siren. Firetruck or cop or ambulance.
Copper suggested that they retreat back inside.
Tommy choreographed lies to coming men in uniforms. Men in button downs. Men who sat in rolling desk chairs, speaking over phones still attached to walls, keyboards before their laps, abandoned filing cabinets filing the dumpsters behind their buildings. Time to get the data in order for these men.
Were there cameras in the streetlights?
Mentally Tommy captioned his impending internet post; tags, links, search criteria. The proper combination of words and letters. The fertilizer to sow its seed within invisibly interconnected eyes across the globe. Cable to cable, wire to wire. Bouncing from satellites around the moon and the bombs above: His visage unloading before a maniac flame, full flush and sailing across a horizonless sea of digitized culture, rising as people poked and prodded their approval of it; then faltering, capsizing, forgotten, drowning within a weightless superocean of ever deepening media. He was shooting for about fifty or sixty 'likes' with this one.
Charred truck fucked up useless two ton black brick.
Abide me! Abide me!
Mentally Tommy captioned his impending internet post; tags, links, search criteria. The proper combination of words and letters. The fertilizer to sow its seed within invisibly interconnected eyes across the globe. Cable to cable, wire to wire. Bouncing from satellites around the moon and the bombs above: His visage unloading before a maniac flame, full flush and sailing across a horizonless sea of digitized culture, rising as people poked and prodded their approval of it; then faltering, capsizing, forgotten, drowning within a weightless superocean of ever deepening media. He was shooting for about fifty or sixty 'likes' with this one.
Charred truck fucked up useless two ton black brick.
Abide me! Abide me!
