The Odd Thing
Copyright© 2023 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 9
The car wasn’t built in England. The car was cloned by Agents of The Empire ... Sallyanne’s bosses. Sallyanne worked for them.
Life happens ... usually because you survived a stupid.
“Well, I won’t be doing that again,” I said, as I pried me out of the wrecked 426 hemi-powered Dodge stationwagon. I knew the ‘make-up your mind’ Tee corner was ahead ... that when one was driving 140 miles a hour when one passed the first warning sign that one could stop in plenty of time. I knew because I’d done it. I knew if one was still speeding, but less then 85, at the second sign ... there was enough time to flatspot the tires and ... maybe ... make the corner. Been there, done that. I was a passenger in that one.
My stupid was I thought everyone knew it.
The driver didn’t.
The field beyond the TEE in the road ... the ‘make up your mind’ sign deeply embedded in the drivers side of the wreck ... was excessively muddy ... it had been a gullywasher 10 minutes ago. I also knew that I’d never pass a typing class. Both hands had been cut to the bone.
The farmer heard the squalling tires and heard the massive thump when we ... the idiots ... landed in his field.
Approaching the scene he said, “The county has to replace that road sign a couple times a year ... but ... I’ve never seen a car this for from the road. How fast were you going.”
I said...”I know ... but I’d rather not say.”
He loooked at me and said, “Son, you’re bleeding, you should sit down.”
So ... I did and that’s how I got mud all over the ambulance.
The only other reason was because you knew the guy who didn’t survive ... and had been watching when he did a stupid.
I know, I know. I know. There are times when the other guy was a victim of someone elses fuck-up. Shit happen.