Edmund stared at Marc through the open rear doors of the Ford. This kid is gonna drive me to drink, he thought to himself. He smiled. It was a small, sad grin that his features barely registered before returning to their natural, cynical cast.
“Too late.”, he muttered.
Edmund walked gingerly across the van’s cargo area, conscious of the broken glass his thrown bottle had caused. The spilled beer only added to the treachery of the trip. His socks were instantly…
Driver wouldn’t quit screaming. It was a hoarse, gargling wail that had no business being as loud as it was. Marc’s spineitched with the intensity of it. His hands clenched and unclenched the Ford’s steering wheel.
“Can you please shut him the fuck up!?!”, he yelled. The van shuddered as he tried to push the accelerator through the floorboard, putting as much distance between Santa Rosa and the Econ-O-Line as possible.
“I’m trying!”, Edmund shouted back,…