Hairy Roadtrip
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2017 by Old Man with a Pen

“Are you listening to me!” she was a tad peeved. She had been going on and on and on about ... who knows what? ... background chatter in the universe ... legal shit ... Lawyers!

“No,” I said, “I’m busy.”

“You’re driving! How busy can that be?”

I knew how to shut her up, “If you must know ... I’m talking to the voices in my head.”

If she could get any farther away she would be outside hanging on to the mirror ... or not.

“Look, you guys can handle Karen ... can’t you?”

<No ... that is the single most stubborn girl in the world.>

“Really?” I said ... after all, it was in for a penny in for a pound.

<Such an archaic phrase. Even the Brits use dollars and pence now.>

I looked at the bloody mess in the front seat, a cigarette paper wouldn’t find room between her body and the door. She need explaining to ... so.

“Yes, yes, yes ... I’m a raving maniac. The girl at home is being uncooperative ... and...” waving my hand at nothing, I said, “These guys are having fits. They want me to go home and fix it.”

<You know ... every time you introduce us to someone new... >

“When have I ever introduced you to anyone?” I asked, “You just barge in and first thing you know ... they’ve won the lottery ... or learned to play guitar over night ... or the organ.”

<Don’t forget Sally.>

“Yes ... who is Sally?”

<Bobby and... >

“Bobby?”

<Bobby and the Silver Spur.>

“Bobby and the Silver Spur?” I said, “You mean Bobby from the Silver Spur ... the cook?”

<Bobby, his brother Tommy, and George ... have a band.>

“What does Karen have to do with Bobby?”

The bloody mess in the corner by the window said, “Bobby and the Silver Spur? They’re great. Is Karen, Karen Post?”

“What?” Since there were multiples in the car, the What was from me.

“Spring Break ... last semester as a college student.” She looked thoughtful, “You really do have voices in your head. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Introduce you? I don’t know you.” I said ... exasperated, “How can I introduce you to things you can’t see?”

“Preachers do it all the time,” as if that made a difference. “Hello, I’m Wendy ... Wendy Austin, Attorney at Law.” That wasn’t her introducing herself to me ... she was talking to my voices ... and I’ll be damned if they didn’t talk back.

<Hello Wendy. Pleased to meet you.>

And they shook her hand. I will admit it looked odd ... her hand was in an invisible clasp and moving up and down ... just like it would in a physical hand shake. I am hurt ... they didn’t shake my hand when they started talking to me.

I pouted.

<You’re driving. Hush up and steer.>

The bloody mess ... Wendy ... Wendy Austin ... her ... the cringing ... wait. She’s sitting normally ... and paying more attention to the road than I am.

She shrieked! Instead of looking back at the road ... like a normal person ... I swerved into the other lane ... no ... wait ... I WAS IN THE OTHER LANE ... I swerved back into MY lane.

“YES! SHUT UP AND STEER,” Wendy shouted. “Good god ... pay attention. I just got rescued from one accident ... thank you very much ... and I don’t need another.”

She fumbled around with her seatbelt. Scrunched against the door with the shoulder strap jammed against one perfect boob...

“Driving here,” I said. I snapped my eyes forward. I was distracted enough.

Denver traffic is interesting.

“I don’t care what the posted speed limit is ... Keep up with traffic!” said the cop who pulled me over ... lo these many months ago. I had been warned. When I got gas in Stapleton, the attendant told me to “Keep Up” with traffic on the Interstates. Funny ... that’s what the cop said.

“Miss Austin ... I need direction.”

“Keep going ... Cherry Creek...”

<We’ll tell you.>

“Thanks.”

“You’re Welcome” <You’re Welcome.>

Great ... just great ... as if I wasn’t confused enough.

Wait ... I remember.

 
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