ATLAS MEETS TYRONE – PUMPING GAS
By Erik Atlas
The
huge Texas june bugs buzzed lazy around the lights under the gas pumps. It was only
May and they were already out like a small army. The man stood next to his
bike and pulled off his helmet, watching trucks lumber past on Texas highway
287 between Amarillo and Dallas.
Sporting
a blond buzz cut hair style, steel blue eyes, a serious face, a black eye from
fighting the night before, he stopped here to refuel and take some more pain
killers, hoping the pain in his back would simmer down.
No one would notice his pain. They would notice his size. he was huge.
He was the legendary fighter and muscleman Erik Atlas. Life in
Texas being what it is, his fortune was always a mix of good and bad. He hurt
all over from a very rough two-on-one pit fight he won in Wildorado.
He
beat two men to win his new bike, barely used and hardly smelled of
cow shit like everything else in Wildorado. His face was cut in places and a
thick black bruise hung inside his right eye. His legs were bruised and his
back battered hard by the violent double teaming. But no one saw that but him. He wore a black leather jacket open in the front showing huge muscle.
His
leathers clinging to his legs made his legs look huge. They were. Atlas stood
6’5” now up to 304 pounds. He had 34” quads in those custom leather pants,
enhanced codpiece, removable for special occasions.
He
watched another car pull in. It bumped over the short causeway built over the
wide and deep drainage ditch leading from the highway to the filling station, the engine chugging its way up the incline to the
pumps.
There
comes a moment when you look at another dude’s car and you think, Oh my FUCKING
gawd, something horrible happened to this guy! I mean he must of had the worst
divorce in the world and was ordered by a judge to cut his dick off. Then as an added punishment they made him drive
this piece of shit that was rolling into the gas station.
A
tall and hugely built black man climbed out of a faded and rusting red Volkswagen
Rabbit. The front wheels were shining gold low-rider wheels. In glaring
contrast, the back wheels were spare-tire donut replacements. The back seats
were torn out so the front seat can go back far enough to let this huge man
drive it.
It finally sunk in for Erik. This car was customized to make the seats go back far enough to
allow this huge man to drive it. This was actually
deliberate. Like someone meant to. On
purpose. It was like a lover he couldn't say good bye to. it was like those rich yappy dog owners that keep their little dog on life support for a year. It was sad. Pathetic. There was a Green Station
Wagon parked on the right of the pumps. It was a terrible car and even that was better. The impossible fact dawned on Atlas.
Oh my gawd. He loves this car.
Atlas
stood next to his bike holding a gas nozzle ready to fill his bike, not
understanding why any man would drive a piece of shit like that on purpose.
Atlas
put the nozzle into his bike, a black on black Indian Chief Dark Horse, a sweet
black bike that looks like he stole it from Batman. He started filling the tank and chuckled
looking away from Tyrone.
Tyrone
was a monster of muscle as well. He wore lime green gym tights that had a
slashing pattern of orange tiger stripes, showing off his huge legs. He wore a
red shirt with the black lettered word TYRONE on it. The shirt matched the
car's color and hung from his thick pecs over his chiseled waist like a curtain. He was
clearly a match to Atlas in size, but not necessarily in vehicles. His car
chugged and sputtered to an eventual stop. Atlas chuckled again.
“Wats
so funny boy?” he said to the biker.
Atlas
froze a moment hearing “boy” slung in his direction. He kept working on his
bike and the refill. In a low voice, Atlas spoke “See, I don't know everything, but I was sure you’d put the name
on your shirt upsy-down so you could read it better.” He chuckled again. “Nice…
car.” Grin!
Tyrone
decided he’d better ignore this white pain in the ass meat-locker of muscle and
privilege or there would be blood. There two rows of
pumps with a large 30’ x 30’ area under the old and swaying carport. He reached for the squeegee in the bucket between the pumps. Bug parts and gore floated in the water. He shook the excess water from the squeegee
spraying water up the leg of Atlas and turned shortly to go clean his
windshield.
“HEY!
Monkey boy!” Atlas shouted. “Watch the pants! They're worth more than your
piece of shit car!”
Tyrone
stood quiet. His arms hung at his sides and he took a deep breath. He turned,
not saying a word and slung the squeegee like a tomahawk at Atlas’ head. A normal man would have that squeegee buried in his head, but Atlas, batted it away with a casual backhand.
That's it! Tyrone stalked to the big biker ready for mayhem. As luck goes on this stretch of highway, a Texas Ranger cruiser pulled
into the parking lot up the ramp to the pump area. The
Rangers pulled into the space directly under the car port. Chests collided and both men could feel hot breath face to face. Atlas and
Tyrone had lined up on the left of the three pumps.
The
two met chest to chest, stopped noses inches from each other. Neither man
blinked. The two rangers climbing out of the front of their cruiser, looked
over at the two men measuring their hostility. The pair of Rangers watched. One was a small guy, looking tightly
packed with muscle, and his taller, far fatter partner moved slowly toward the
convenience store doors. The smaller guy kept his hand on his service weapon.
As
one, the two big men both looked at the rangers and mentally took an inventory of their
already considerable police records wondering how much they wanted to add to it
tonight.
The
pump on Atlas’ bike went ka-CHUNK as it finished filling his tank. The noise was enough to break the spell of combat. The men looked at the rangers again, then at each other. Atlas slowly
cleaned his teeth with his tongue and turned away from the simmering Tyrone to
attend his bike. The huge simmering black man stood his ground wondering what to do
next. The cops relaxed their shoulders
and walked into the store. The door opened and klunked with a dead ringing cow bell.
The
hostility seemed broken.
The stretch of highway seemed cursed and you might believe that if you stayed here and watched long enough. It seemed that any peace that settled opn this place was always broken.
The rural highway suddenly erupted in sound as a semi barreled past with two cruisers chasing it. A spattering of gunfire turned everyone’s heads, both muscle men were
forced to look away and pay some attention to the other possible mayhem
shattering the quiet of the night.
The
rangers burst out of the convenience store and jumped into their cruiser. Of course a milkshake and a soda were left on the roof of the cruiser. Their lights erupted into a blinding flash and the Rangers peeled out of the station roaring down the short ramp to
follow in chase. The drinks hit the ground.
Silence
descended on the gas station. Erik could hear small pinging noises that rang out like random little
bells as bigger bugs madly circling the lights overhead and collided drunkenly into the
lights over and over.. “I’m waiting.” Tyrone said.
Atlas
arched an eyebrow, “For…?”
“Da
apology for yor words.” He said.
Atlas
snickered. yea, calling any black man what he did was wrong, and deep inside he knew it. He was still pissed. “After you lick my pants clean, bitch.” The heat of their stand off resumed.
A large rig rumbled
like distant thunder, slowly moving toward the gas station. The rumbling and thundering of the approaching
truck increased matching the growing tension that resumed as the two big men
spoke.
“The
FUCK that’s happening, you meathead faggy-assed cracker….!” Tyrone erupted.
Facing
his bike, Atlas nodded. He suddenly turned and KICKED the front bumper of
Tyrone’s Rabbit. Atlas half hoped it would explode into parts from one kick just to prove his point that it was a piece of shit. That didn't happen.
The shove dislodged the parking brake and it rolled down the incline across the ditch causeway and
into the highway in front of the loud oncoming semi truck. The impact with the
truck was loud. The car exploded into pieces, literally raining parts, hood, bumpers,
and doors onto the road.
Tyrone
stared at Atlas slack jawed, holding his head. He could only scream in rage, shaking with anger. “AWWWWWWWHHHHHHH!!!!”
Atlas
nodded with a smug smile, with his opponent out of control and blind with rage he
judged Tyrone should be much easier to beat down now. He dropped low launching a
spin kick to Tyrone’s knee dropping the big black man on his face, with Atlas quickly
standing. His knee landed on the back of Tyrone’s neck driving his face into
the pavement hard!
Atlas
spoke in a hissing voice. “I did you a favor moron! You need a man’s car,” he
rose off the back of Tyrone’s head. “Not that piece of rotting childish shit
that…” he never finished the sentence.
Tyrone
quickly rose and grabbed Atlas’ foot as he did dumping him on his back. Screaming
in frustration and fury, he straddled and mounted the huge muscle biker and started pounding
him with a flurry of lightning fast high powered fists! Trying the stop the
rain of punches was like trying to stop an avalanche of bricks.
Atlas
managed to block some of the hits, but couldn’t stop them all. His head rocked
as Tyrone screamed at him, “YOU killed BABY! How could you DO that yo crazy fukin
cracker!?” Atlas’ back raged in pain from the previous abuse he received in the
pit fight the night previous and the huge muscled Tyrone on top of him,
compressing his ribs and back hurt!
Tyrone’s
car was his pride and joy. He found that the Rabbit was the kind of car that he could
repair and fix regardless of the problem and was sure it could last forever. But now, in a quick wicked
moment it was destroyed, a pounded mess of aging parts strewn on the highway.
Three
huge punches rocked the blond stud! Tyrone then tore at the jacket he wore, pulling
up from his back and yanking it over his face, a punk way of blinding an
opponent. With Atlas temporarily hooded by his coat, Tyrone rose off the big
man and dropped his knee into his guts hard!
Atlas
let out a muffled groan of pure pain! AUUUUUHGHHHG! With his back in spasms of
pain as well as his stomach lurching. His
huge arms flexed as Atlas tried shoving him off his stomach. Tyrone moved with the shove and took it to his advantage. He jumped up and drove another hard two foot double stomp into his
muscled plated waist! Blinded by his jacket, Atlas was still unable to see any strike coming This one landed hard!
Working
hard to counter Tyrone’s advantage, he quickly planted his legs, scooped under
Tyrone’s left leg and humped his hips up hard, lifting and throwing the big
black man overhead, planting his face hard on the oily pavement.
Out
in the highway, the truck driver that destroyed Tyrone’s car, had leapt out of
his cab looking at the wreckage of the little red car. He rushed about, holding
his head. “Owmahgawd!!!” he hissed through his teeth. “Owmahgawd!!!
Owmahgawd!!!” he ran around the remains of the little car’s wreckage looking
for the driver. “He’s gone!”
Up
on the gas platform, Atlas was quickly on his feet facing the rising black man. He shucked off his jacket revealing a massive pec shelf and powerful muscled arms. His chest was heaving from
the exertion from the fight. The bruises from last night’s fight were green and
blue, all over his pecs and arms.
The
driver was on his cell phone screaming, “I want to report an ALIEN ABDUCTION!”
Both
men stopped and slowly looked down at the driver, his insane screaming report
easily heard up the short hill, and had to blink in disbelief at what was happening.
Atlas
paid the dumb trucker enough attention to get popped in the jaw with a hard jab
from Tyrone. As his head rocked back he dropped
his jacket on the ground. Beyond fury at the stupid white people he was forced
to meet in Texas, he grabbed Atlas by the head pulling down and DROVE a knee up
into his face!
The
sound of his big muscled body hitting pavement echoed through the car port.
Atlas rolled holding his face. Tyrone leapt into the air driving both heels
into the muscleman’s guts and with all of his weight! AWUGHHH! Atlas groaned
out slapping on the calves of the big man pining him to the ground. Using
Atlas’ guts as a springboard, Tyrone jumped off the big man. He rolled left and
right holding his guts.
Trying
to get up on all fours, Atlas left himself wide open and Tyrone was in no mood
for mercy. He kicked Atlas in the ribs like it was a field goal with an audible
smak! He flipped the big man over to his back with the force of that kick!
“AUGHHhhhhhhh!”
Atlas cried out from the pain, holding his abused core rolling on his back.
Tyrone pressed his advantage and pulled the big man up nearly standing, then
unleashed the power he used to ruin Mule.
His
arms slapped hard around the waist of Atlas. He bent forward SQUEEZING his
battered waist in his bearhug. “UGHHHHHH!!!!” Atlas howled as his ribs
compressed painfully and his air was driven from his lungs and his back wracked
in pain! The huge thick arms of the massive angry black man crushed deep dents
into the sides of the biker. His head rocked back bearing a mask of pain.
His
huge arm flexed to slam a punch in Tyrone’s face and slowed to a stop as
Tyrone’s lips sucked onto Atlas’ neck, kissing there, somehow taking advantage of
Atlas’ erotic weakness target.
Every
man has a place that when a lover touches, kisses, caresses, it’s like a
trancelock. Men have gone for his nips before but that’s not the super target
on Atlas. The neck, just under the ear, lips thick and sensual licked on the
big man’s neck chewing slowly and humping his hips into the crotch of Atlas.
Moaning
in pain, and now moaning in pleasure. “Yu muscled fucker…” he whispered as Tyrone
continued his body-wrecking squeeze.
“UGHHhhhh!...!!!” Atlas groaned in pain, pushing
on Tyrone’s face to get him off his neck, trying to break the erotic spell of
manlust that he was weaving. His cock kept growing harder, eyes wide open, head
back, gasping for air because of the crush and lust combination.
The
bearhug was a favorite tool of Atlas. But he secretly wondered what it might be
like if a man could maybe challenge him in that embrace. It was as if Tyrone
knew this, or was it luck? His ribs compressed further as he was reeling in
astonishment. His cock was now leaking in his custom leathers. His shoulders
bent back as Tyrone leaned forward, legs collapsing under the combined drain on
his power.
He
suddenly squeezed Atlas hard lifting his body up, his feet off the pavement,
rocking the big man’s chest into his face, and Tyrone sucked on Atlas’ neck
again. The big biker shuddered in lust as his cock throbbed, trapped between
them in his codpiece.
Tyrone
felt the big biker dick throbbing between them and chuckled, “Man yu one horny
cracker. I will fuck u tonight right here at the pumps and take yor bike for
payment in killing Baby…”
Atlas’
eyes snapped open. “TAKE my BIKE!?” He won that bike with bruise and blood. The
whole spell of erotic distraction crumbled. His arms flew wide and SLAMMED over
Tyrone’s ears setting off a bomb of pain in his head. Atlas felt his feet hit
the pavement… not waiting another second his knee lifted into Tyrone’s swaying
nutsack. AWOUGHHHHH!!!! Tyrone groaned in primal pain releasing his victim.
Atlas
was furious at the suggestion of taking his bike. He was going to strip and
humiliate this fucker. He pulled Tyrone’s baggy shirt up over his back and
blinded him by pulling it over his head. DRILLING Tyrone in the face with a
knee, he dumped the huge black man onto his back, his arms tangled over his
head and face blinded by his shirt.
Atlas
gripped Tyrone’s tight pants now and pulled them off his thick legs revealing a
huge piece of man meat. “Holy monkeyballs!” Atlas let out seeing that huge cock
on Tyrone. His own cock was semi hard from the humming lust he was infected
with in Ty’s bearhug. Seems Tyrone felt the same.
Tyrone
thrashed scrambling blind and now mostly naked. He tore the shirt off his head
and threw it on the ground beyond the pumps. He hit the trash bucket between
the pumps. Because the wind in these parts of Texas here was significant, the
lid was chained to the trash barrel.
Tyrone
stood and tore the chain from the barrel and held the lid like a 3’ shield. He
didn’t care about this piece of shit plastic lid, he wanted the chain.
Atlas
rushed at him and Tyrone threw the lid at him hard! Ducking to avoid the lid
Atlas tackled Tyrone. The lid sailed overhead out of the car port into the
night and over the head of the trucker.
“Holeeee
CRAP! Owmahgawd!!! Owmahgawd!!!” He ducked into his truck cab and pulled out a
pump action shotgun. “SAUCERS!”
Atlas
and Tyrone has no fucks to give about the stupid trucker and grappled on the
ground on the far side of the pumps, on the other side of the Indian. The bike
sat there with its gas hose still in the tank. Atlas and Tyrone grappled hard
hand to hand, fighting to get possession of the chain. Tyrone tore the chain from
Atlas’ grasp as the huge 34” quads of Atlas snaked around Tyrone’s waist.
Clamping in a side scissors Atlas unleashed a burst of crushing pressure
squeezing Tyrone’s guts in a body wrecking bodyscissors!
He
squeeeeezed Tyrone’s waist so hard Ty could feel bruising muscle tears ripping
into his waist. The thick muscle cased in smooth black leather flexing that
thick protective armor tight! The huge legs of Atlas were so strong his
opponents called this hold the DEATHSQUEEZE. The crushing hold robbed Tyrone of
any air and his body shuddered under the strain of being crushed so completely.
His
hands shook and the chain fell from his grasp, his eyes squeezed shut as he
tried to endure the pain. OOUHHHHGHHHHH!!!” he groaned out in pain from the horrible
abuse he was taking.
Atlas
grabbed the chain and looped it around Tyrone’s thick neck choking him. Tyrone
laced his fingers under the chain at the last moment before it snapped tight,
fighting for air.
Tyrone
was completely naked in Atlas’ tight embrace. Atlas wore his leather pants and
boots, enjoying the superior position. “I am going to fuck you, get on my bike,
and head the fuck out of here.” Atlas assured the suffering black man. He
squeezed a burst tighter and Tyrone’s waist nearly disappeared under the
crushing pressure. UGGGGGfffffff!!!!! Tyrone gasped in agony, “MY
RIBS!...UGHHHFFFFF!!!!”
Suddenly,
a black car with white emergency lights rolled to the hill just below the
station. Atlas saw the lights were actually white crosses, lit bright, rotating
like cop lights. Both he and Tyrone were on the ground outside the pumps as
Atlas crushed Tyrone. A man in a black
turtleneck sweater carrying a bible and a black flashlight with a white cross
as the light jumped out of the driver’s seat.
The
side of the car read, “Rapture Action Prayer Emergency – Groom, TX”
(The
Groom Cross, the world’s most overdone expensive monument, made in a town
crumbling from poverty. Groom spent half a million on this eyesore that can be
seen 30 miles away and warns everyone that these people are all batshit crazy.
Mobs of purity police wander the streets - Note the relative size of the semi truck in
the parking lot.)
The
Prayerman rushed to the trucker, mildly wary of the shotgun, and for good
reason. He was looking up in the sky and aiming at anything that moved, luckily
the only thing moving were the thumb sized june bugs. “Citizen! I am Gaylord
Peterson, Rapture Action Prayer Emergency field agent!” the man in black
hissed. “Am I here in time? Have thou seen the rapture with thine own eyes?”
“What?”
the trucker looked at him with his head cocked to one side, confused.
“Hast
the blessed gift of the sepulchral light fallen on this ground and Raptured a
man this evening?”The Prayerman sang in a churchy voice.
“What?”
asked the trucker.
Deep
breath, serious face, the Prayerman tried again. “Did you see someone
disappear?”
“YES!
He drove his car in front of my rig and then he disappeared!” he spun around in
excitement and then saw the multicolored fruit salad of Tyrone’s pants on the
ground, and his shirt with his name on it, tossed there by Atlas when he
stripped him. “And lookie here! He fell right out of HIS CLOTHES!!!”
Gasping
in a deep agonizing pain Tyrone tried to speak and could only whisper,”Get…
yu hans off my…clothes…crazy UGHHH!” Atlas squeezed him harder and choked
his thick neck with the chain, Tyrone’s head rocked back unable to speak again.
The Prayerman and the trucker paid then no mind anyway. Theyt walked up the
short hill to the plaza under the carport. The R.A.P.E.SUV parked at the bottom
of the hill.
“His
clothes are off his body. He’s naked! That means…” the trucker paused
dramatically.
“The
Rapture?” said the preacher.
“Anal
probes!” said the trucker.
“Huh
good idea,” said Atlas, grinning into Tyrone’s face, humping himself into
tyrone’s side. He was looking at Tyrone’s muscled up body squirming in pain under the pythonic squeeze locked
around him with his huge iron-flexed legs, at the mercy of Atlas, his cock
getting harder.
“NO fuckin… way!” hissed Tyrone. “I… will… kill…u!!!”
The
preacher stood now in the wide center plaza under the carport and tried in vain
to explain that abductions are actually mini raptures of men being assumed
bodily into heaven by JEEEzzzzuz and a sign of the end times.
The
Trucker said it was definitely an alien abduction because he saw the flying
saucer, and he heard all about the anal probes.
They
were roughly interrupted when Atlas threw the gasping and badly weakened Tyrone
over the garbage container between the pumps, balls deep in Tyrone’s ass
fucking him hard.
The
custom codpiece of his leathers open revealing his huge beer can thick cock
ramming it in the amazing curves ass cheeks of Tyrone. The black man gasped in
agony, his ribs crushed hard and bruised, the chain still wrapped around his
neck, gagging and swearing every time he sucked a thin desperate breath. “FUKkk …U…. Craker…Homo… azzhol…UGRRRkkkK!” His
every breath pain, and his ass invaded by Atlas’ huge cock.
The
preacher froze. The trucker froze.
“It’s
worse,” said the trucker.
“Yes,”
said the preacher. “It is.”
“It’s
homos,” they said in unison.
Atlas
hammered Tyrone holding onto that chain, slamming hard and rocking his head
back in a look of pure bliss. The trucker held his hand over the Prayerman‘s eyes
shielding him from the sight of two muscle stallions fucking hard. The preacher
pulled the shielding hand away. “It’s ok son.” He said. “I’m a trained field
agent from Groom. We seen it all.” His hand slowly gripped his crotch watching
for a few precious seconds more.
“GET…
this fucking APE…OFF…. ME!” Tyrone gasped.
The
trucker held up the shotgun, “NO no no! Don’t shoot me!” Tyrone shouted.
Tyrone
had to do it himself. He grabbed the gas hose next to him and pulled. It popped
out of the tank of Atlas’ Indian and dragged on the ground. In one fluid motion
he swung it in a circle HARD. It came around and SLAMMED Atlas in the head!
UGHHHH!
Atlas
stumbled back from the surprise hit. His cock popped out of Tyrone. The chain
fell off Tyrone’s neck and he gasped for air, gagging hard! Atlas was so close
to breeding the black musclehead. He pulled on the hose, trying to rip it out
of Tyrone’s hands. He grabbed at the nozzle and intended to choke him with the
hose and accidentally grabbed the trigger. A gushing discharge of gasoline
spurted out of the nozzle and washed over Tyrone’s back and head. It hit the
ground spraying gasoline.
“AUUUGHHHHH
what the FUCK!” Tyrone gasped sputtering gasoline out of his mouth.
“Language,”
said the preacher in an admonishing tone.
Tyrone
snapped his head around staring at the Prayerman , he had just about enough of
stupid crackers right then. He rushed the preacher, grabbed his flashlight and
BATTED the man in black across the face. The flashlight was so cheap it broke
into parts. The only useful part, the hand grip, slid out of his hands and
rolled down the hill and into the drainage ditch with a *splook* noise.
“That
flashlight was blessed by 18 virgins, You’re going to be charged for its
replacement,” said the Prayerman. Atlas
put down the hose and tapped Tyrone on the back. He had never intended to wash
him in gasoline and all he wanted to do is fuck him. “Dude, lets get you
cleaned up…”
“Shut
your FUCKING MOUTH yu faggy assraping muscleheaded…”
They
were interrupted once again by a shouting voice, “OK all you put yur hands up!”
It was the convenience store clerk holding a tazer. Atlas slowly moved between the clerk and
Tyrone. “I don’t see yur hand going up fuckers!” his voice was stringy and
dusted with Doritos; he clearly liked mountain dew and maybe weights 98 pounds.
“Language!” the preacher lectured again.
“Brother, get to the drainage ditch,” Atlas whispered.
“Fuck
yosef…” he snapped back.
“He
will set you on fire…” Atlas said slowly.
Tyrone
went suddenly silent and started backing away toward the ditch. The kid walked
into the bay area and stood in the pool of gasoline. Atlas shook his head in
wonder, moving between the clerk and Tyrone.
“I
said stop nigger!” The little clerk finally found his balls and pulled his
tazer and aimed down at Tyrone’s back as he ran for the drainage ditch. Tyrone would
probably burn bright on just one spark, and this is central Texas and maybe folks
don’t put out burning black men here. Atlas was not going to experiment.
Atlas
found himself flying through the air, Like he was blocking a field goal attempt.
The probe hit Atlas in the right delt and his life turned to fire, electric
fire, shaking on the ground, cock hard pissin, frying hearing nothing but himself
screaming.
Tyrone
ran and landed sloppy in the boggy water of the drainage ditch. The current
stopped frying Atlas. He grabbed the leads and threw him back at the kid. He
wasn’t taking chances on the kid hitting the discharge switch again. His recharge
unit whines as the capacitor recharged. “Stay down!” The kid shouted.
Atlas
turned to see Tyrone emerge from the ditch, probably less flammable and
breathed a sigh of relief. “So now what kid? You shot me.” Atlas noticed this
unit had a second coil loaded
“I
will do it agin!” he squared his shoulders.
“Do
it son, its God’s justice that you came here today. Shoot,” the Prayerman said
with a sneer. The boy did not waste another second. He shot. Atlas swung his
hand hard trying to deflect the incoming probe. It pierced his flesh in his
right pectoral and the frying burning fire seared his life to screaming shreds
again!
Then
a huge eruption of flames erupted in front of him. “HOLY SHIT!” he screamed.
The flash was spectacular! The flames took the pump and it went up like a
Lubbock Family Reunion.
He
shielded his face with a muscular arm. He heard the clerk scream, standing in a
flaming pool of gasoline. Both leads fired on the second shot hitting Atlas
with a firey charge of juice and igniting the gasoline.
The
mind ripping jolt stopped as he felt the hot flames searing his skin. Atlas scrambled
from the burning wreckage of the car port gasping and holding his chest. His
hands were shaking after a million volts went through him. The clerk, the
preacher, and the trucker were nowhere to be seen.
#
# #
“So
why caint I drive?” Tyrone said wearing a very too tight black turtleneck as
they drove down the highway in the Rapture vehicle.
“Because
I have pants,” he said.
“That
is total bullshit!” Tyrone said still angry. “Yu kilt Baby and fucked me in the
ass, dam near got me set on fire and now I don’t get to drive. Because you have
pants?”
He
grabbed Tyrone by the hair, “LISTEN. You lost a 10 dollar piece of shit car and
some truly horrible clothes. I lost a Five hundred dollar leather jacket, a
brand new Chief Black Horse Indian bike, and yu want me to hand you the wheel
trusting you won’t kill me?’
Tyrone
pulled out of Atlas’ grip and grabbed him by the throat. “I will kill yu now
maybe!” Atlas PUNCHED the gas opening this car up in speed. The speedometer
passed 80….90….100….110….
Tyrone
shouted, “Slow the fuck down!”
“Let
go of my neck,” Atlas said gasping.
Passing
140 miles per hour Tyrone let go of Atlas and slumped against his door. Atlas
brought the car to a nice 75.
Tyrone
looked out of the window at the night sky. “I fucking hate yu…’ he said.
“I
took a tazer for you,” Atlas said quietly.
The
road rolled on.
Not
turning from the window Tyrone gripped Atlas’ right hand and held it tight,
“Thank
u,” he said. "It don' mean yu get to call me that shit."
“I’m
sorry for my words,’ said Atlas."They won't happen again."
Tyrone
nodded.
[end]
FOOTNOTE:Last month I drove past Groom, TX. Of course, as is my custom, I don't stop. I do not do any commerce in any place so stupid as to make a cross so big it makes them look like a mob of pod people.
The people that make electric power happen, they built a run of windmills alone I-40 from Amarillo on East. They forms a chain of white towers and enormous turning windmills. They also happen to be about 30% taller than the Groom Cross, making that cross look more like a broken windmill than a warning or hopeless stupidity.
