As the family wagon pulled into a small truck stop in the middle of nowhere, Jack's father turned to him and his mother.
"Who else is hungry? "
They had been driving across state to visit family and were now heading back home again. The problem is that it's a long drive and Jacks iPod ran out of battery a long time ago.
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One warm Saturday morning in June I decided on a shopping trip to Birmingham, a drive of around 60 miles. The journey, which I had made many times before, was pleasant and uneventful in the sunshine. On arrival I parked my car in the open-air public car park, threw my jacket into the boot and walked towards the road leading up to the shopping centre.
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There was a light drizzle covering his windshield and clouding his view of the new dance club that had just opened in the industrial park. When he first saw the signs, he thought that maybe they were adding yet another peeler parlour to a small city that was already over run with strip bars and exotic dance clubs. The rumour was though, that this place was definitely not one of those, but a place that was much different and new to this town.
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"You could have at least waited for him to come off the operating table."
"I couldn't . . . (huff) . . . help it . . . (puff). I think we may have overimplanted the scent. Come over here and . . ."
"My God, I think you're right. God, god, finish with it. I must . . . as well. And we can see how well he can take an enhanced size. You're no . . ."
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I had just closed escrow on a house I found in Manhattan Beach, a better part of Los Angeles County than my old digs--closer to the beach. I spent the day moving in my furniture, and as the sun went down, to celebrate I drove to a restaurant I saw on Sepulveda Boulevard. I sat at the bar and ordered a Knob Creek and soda--a little 100 proof whiskey was just what I needed.
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Let me start by introducing myself.
Hi, I'm Ben and I am writing about this recent experience because it has given me a lot of pleasure replaying it in my mind and I would like others to share in that experience.
I am a good looking guy so my girlfriend tells me anyway, about 6ft, light brown hair, blue eyes with nice muscle definition and a hint of a six pack.
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The house was built on a rise, and the garden sloped gently down to the banks of the Hunter River. Willows and reeds lined the shore, and a few ducks busied themselves feeding in the water occasionally turning their tails up, as they lowered their beaks to the muddy bottom. I looked behind me. The house was impressive, a fine Georgian style home with 15 rooms, not counting bathrooms or laundry.
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Michael trembled imperceptibly as he wheeled his Ford Explorer into the narrow parking space in front of Suite 208, snapped off the radio and killed the engine. This is it, he thought. Both hands gripped the wheel as he sorted through complex emotions. No fighting it any longer. He had come to take charge of his life, and for once, finally after his 42 years, he was intent on fulfilling his desires in the only way he knew possible. No more lies, no more facades. This had to be done.
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I was eighteen, had just moved out of my parents' house after breaking up with my girlfriend of two years. I was not ready to go to college.
So against my father's advice I moved to a city far away from my small home town and found a job as a mail boy at a large real estate company, which made it possible for me to rent a small flat and pay for my own car.
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