By Wayne Jackson 1950-1989
I was watching for upperclassmen and pushing that old car at a hundred and five. The senior genius was nowhere in sight...you know.
There was a car parked on the interstate ahead with the blue bubble of authority sitting right there on the top that they gave him because the blue bulge of it fit the exact shape of his head. So, being forever me, I went by him at a hundred and five and still climbing, fully intending to stretch it out to the wretched end if necessary, to where, in a frantic effort to set justice right, he shot my tires out from under me, crashed into the side of my car, pistol whipped me for awhile, and then dragged my speeding ass off unconscious.
But the bastard was asleep, leaving me to go my dark indulgent way.
Copyright © 1997 by Donald Wayne Jackson, All rights reserved