After pacifying the lunatic with the impossible car bingo objective of spotting a Lincoln Futura, convincing the hockey player not to purchase services from the whore in front of the child and then using his mouthpiece to protect the old man’s brittle teeth from rattling during bad jolts in the road, you find yourself quietly singing along with everyone, “Bound for the Promised Land”, at the driver’s affectedly parental request.
Then the rains come. For a while, it’s like the sky has a bunch of leaky faucets and the plumbers are all home for college bowl day, giving you time to prepare yourselves for a more heavy rain and securely fasten the giant blue tarp in the back over your heads. Underneath the tarp, the rain is all anyone can hear and minute by minute gradually gets louder – a downward, inward, relentless force. Things start getting scarier when the obese man in the front seat starts having a convulsive stroke and the lunatic rails on with his just as relentless demand for Oreos.
The winds pick up, and by pick up, I mean picks the pickup off the ground. “Tornado!” is the single reflexive thought that goes through everyone’s mind as the truck starts spinning around like Dorothy’s house. Absolute helpless mayhem, nothing can better describe the situation at hand, and then…soft silence.
Go to page 86.
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