A Nightlife Away From The Bar Scene

I hitch-hiked to my friend's who lived, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. It was already getting pretty late. The sun had long set, giving time for my burns to cool-off. Some pick-up driving hick gave me a lift. He was holding a bottle of sipping-whiskey between his legs and he offered some to me. I asked him why he endangered himself and others by driving drunk. He pointed out that there was nobody else on the road... which was true. The worst thing that could happen to him would be driving into a shallow ditch... which wouldn't even be that bad. He broke-out a flask, from which he snorted, and passed it on to me saying it was cocaine and added:
"It's ok to drive drunk... as long as there's plenty of coke to keep me awake."

He'd clear his throat a lot and project his hoarkes at the passing speed limit signs while doing seventy in a fifty zone. Then he'd sing along with the bluegrass playing on his car stereo. I'd be cheering him on the whole time as my ass got drunk real fast. I saw him polish-off another twenty-six ouncer before letting me off near my

friend's place... by that time, we had become VERY loud. I thanked him and told him that he was my hero. Before taking-off again, he tried throwing me a quart of whiskey for the road but I didn't see it coming and it smashed on the pavement.
Waddling up the road, I could tell from half a kilometer away that the party was going full throttle. I found Carl, puking in the ditch a couple of houses down from his not to let his guests see him in his moment of shame. I walked up to him to pat his back and he assured me that he'd be alright, given a few more minutes; then he passed-out. Poor guy. He was really fucked, seeing that he was unconscious and helpless to the animals' instinct in his open house party. So as an act of drunken mercy I pulled down my pants and warmed him up with my urine.

The air was really thick and everybody was wasted. The clock would've struck eleven if it hadn't been smashed. The entire place was leveled to ground zero. Broken glass and cigarette butts hid the carpet burns and torn furniture. My buddies greeted me with a spliff and that fucked me over real good because of that whiskey binge back with the hick. I walked through the party, suddenly realizing that I was quickly losing eye-sight. I kept moving, flowing through the noise of people's footsteps ahead of me. Whoever noticed me must've thought I was a crack-head. It was pathetic, I was blind and adrift; in need of serious help. I ended-up sort of coming-to in a hot-boxed room with some guy talking about college and drop-outs. A girl sitting next to me kept asking for a friend's number because she wanted to play guitar for his band. I eventually gave in to her and felt guilty for it... I was sure she was an assassin, hired to kill him because of a girl he must've fucked-over. But despite that, she seemed to be a nice young woman; ready to make her life as an environmentalist.

My buddies came into the room, telling me that they had been looking for me. They brought me into the kitchen where knives were already hot and bots of hash lined the counter. I smoked them with a fox who claimed he had just come back from a math test. He hadn't bothered solving any of the problems; instead, just stared blankly at the paper. I left him to go to the bathroom and there was a mass of dripping wet people lying on the floor. I asked them what they were doing. One of them answered that they were being art. I really had to go though, and they didn't seem to care, so I emptied my bladder on them. They never budged.

I wondered towards the outer rim of existence and noticed the sports room door to be open. Noises came from within so I checked. Good God! three commando types pulled me in and shut the door.
"Shut-up!" said the one with the red beret; I think he was the leader, "We're going hunting with these guns and you're in."
I just stared back at them like a goof because I was mute from terror. I could've shit myself if my metabolism hadn't been so fucked from the drugs.

"That's right!" said the tall blond Arian fascist, "We can't have you go around warning Charlie." He loaded his gun: "Hey what the fuck you looking at, city boy," and they started slapping me around; telling me that I had to carry the ice cooler. It was filled with beer and they said I could have one if I did a good job.

We left for the forest and set camp. . . actually, I set camp. They made me dig a hole in the ground to set the cooler in. I had a spatula, thank God. They shot a duck before I had a chance to finish and they ordered me to go get it. It took me a long time to find it in the pitch black. They were throwing-out their last corpses by the time I came back.

"Look in the cooler," said the beret, "Take that gun and shoot what's moving over there," pointing at a moving shadow.
I aimed and shot, saw it fall, and ran to see what I had killed. I looked down and yelled: "Hey! this isn't a gun... it's a blow-drier!" They knocked me in the back of the head with what-ever and I passed-out for a while.

I came to and ran back to Carl's to warn him of the danger. One of the commandos held a look-out on the roof. Burning oil bins surrounded the house for extra light. I managed to slip in the garage through the back door. I looked around for my buddies, as stealthy as she goes, and found them tied-up with Carl in the living room. The guard left for the bathroom and I seized the moment to free my friends. We dosed with Carl to make him feel better and escaped in his mother's car. They heard us start the engine and shot at us from the roof and windows. They punctured the gas tank but we made it safely a dozen kilometers further down the highway.

We left the car behind and walked towards a gas station a few clicks away.
So there we were, stranded at a gas station in the middle of nowhere... not that we were alone for, quite the contrary, this seemed to be the hot spot. It was almost like a showroom. Around us were the slickest cars available to your average baby-boomer; only their sexy teenage girls were behind the wheels. They kept driving right up to us too, like we were the judges or something.

One of them, a hot chinese girl, (probably just finished her teens) got out of her car to show it off to us. The thing wasn't much more than one and a half feet thick. It looked more like a really fancy soap cart than a luxury car. She told us that it didn't run like your average car but we had kinda' guessed that for ourselves because there was no place for a motor under the hood. My friends kept touching the leather off the chairs but the back seats caught my eye; they slid under the front seats to reveal a small alcove like that of a pick-up truck.

She let loose in the wind her long shiny black hair, her white shirt flapping while she re-fastened her gloves and she offered us a ride. I tried sitting in the back seat but my friends shoved them forward to sit in the alcove... there being five of us meant that we had to make sacrifices so that we all may enjoy the ride. I mentioned that we didn't have seat belts. That didn't matter because the car could easily outrun the cops anyway... not exactly what I had in mind but that's what I was told.

She started up the engine and we sped along the road where hicks, tending their cattle, looked at us funny. From where we were, they looked like they were fucking the animals. She took a left turn and that's when she really floored the pedal. I noticed the girl's work on the stick-shift. Then she started working on Carl's, who was sitting next to her in the front seat. He squirmed at first but, as she went faster and faster, his face got redder and redder and he finally blew his load all over her glove. Then she let her hand rest on the stick-shift, cum dripping along its length and onto its rubber base. By that point he felt it necessary to know her name:
"Lin? That's a really nice name! I like it... It suits you well... You look like a Lin... I have an aunt named Lyne, she's very nice... so are you..."

While Carl was embarrassing himself, I was beginning to feel noxious from the extreme speed mixing with that night's toxic cocktail. He suddenly fell out of the car and flipped backwards onto the road and Lin stopped the car to check on him. Turned out that he rolled over the asphalt in such a way that he only suffered a few bruises and scratches; no stitches needed and his blood clot in seconds. I've seen him get way worst punishment working-out in the mini-gym his dad had bought him for his seventeenth birthday. He had managed to trap a good piece of his outer-arm skin between some thirty or so pounds and the bar rest, leaving a purple mark as big as half a bill. It took about one year to heal. That became the but of every joke during our senior year.

Lin sat on the hood of her car and spread her legs, clearly revealing that, under her very short leather mini-skirt, she wore no underwear. She spoke authoritatively:
"I demand satisfaction!"
I took the initiative and guzzled from her hot spring. Carl freaked out and started babbling again. This time, he spoke revoltingly about the world's injustice and how Chinese kids starve while American pigs get fat... that flipped her lid. I was finally beginning to really get into her when she jolted off the car, smothering my entire face with goo, to fetch her whip in the glove compartment. With her skirt hiked around the waist, she ran after him with a crack at every chance she had. The only one of us who wasn't staring at her noticed that she left keys in the ignition and we stranded them off to their own respective kink.

It was near dawn when we finally ditched the car in a town bordering the highway. We found gamblers, in an alley, betting on turtle races. I had never seen that before and neither had my friends. We asked them why they chose to bet with turtles and they explained that they were sick of blowing-off all their money in a flash on horses. That made sense and we joined them for a round. We pulled all our money together on a turtle that tripled our wage. Now we had enough to buy breakfast with. They recommended the diner two blocks down so that's where we went.
The food was cheap, very good and served by a lonely man; apparently fancied himself a preacher:

"I tried and tried but no one will listen to me around here. My son's tutor came in two months ago, complaining about my son's lack of attention. He blamed it all on me! I told him, 'listen you fuck-head, you'd best be circumcised lest you wanna fuck with a napalm wielding Holy Mafia.' That shut him up and he hasn't bugged me about it since. You know what I'm talking about, right boys?... the Bible... the BIG BOOK! I know what I'm talking about! I raised my kid the right way. I told him not to fuck the girl next door and you know what he said to me? He said, 'I'm not, under any circumstance, leaving a condom full of my sperm in the hands of a girl who collects other people's hair!' But then I told him, 'Son, both living and dying's ok as long as you know what you're doing.' . . ."

He kept blowing it out of his hole. My friends didn't listen to him but I did. And I might even add that I learned something from the guy: strange people talking about stranger people promote an irrepressible fear of leaving the house. Now... what would he think to hear my story?