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bewareofgeek) wrote2004-04-28 02:37 pm
bewareofgeek) wrote2004-04-28 02:37 pm
Memnemonic implant
Invent a memory of me and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something that's never happened. Then, of course, post this to your journal and see what people would like to remember of you, only the universe failed to cooperate in making it happen so they had to make it up instead.
Impalas, margaritas and senoritas...
We were just out to take in some scenery, see some new places, meet some new faces, find whatever there was to be found, at least until the money ran out. We were pretty sure we could make it to the beaches at Cozumel and bake in the sun for a few days before we had to head back, but we weren't in any hurry. We were picking up hitchhikers, taking them as far as they wanted to go, as long as they could keep their end of the conversation up and they didn't stink too bad.
That one bastard, though...I know you said you had a bad feeling about him, but it wasn't until he got in the car that I really picked up what you were talking about. He just looked...wrong. Like he didn't fit, walking shoeless down the side of the highway, holding that expensive looking bag like it was his child or something. Guys with clothes like that don't walk, anywhere, yet here he was, sliding into the backseat like we was a New York taxicab come to take him to the airport or some shit.
Well, you being your usual, cheerful self, you tried making good of a weird situation, tried chatting the fool up...but he wasn't having any of it. Just sat there, clutching that bag, not talking to either one of us. Well, fuck him, we figured, we'd mind our own damned business and be rid of him as soon as we could.
When we stopped for lunch, he wouldn't get out of the car, just elected to sit there and wait for us to come back. He must have figured we were planning to ditch him, leave him sitting there while we took off, because nothing could talk him out of that back seat.
When we got back on the road, I took over the wheel, and I had a mean headache creeping in on me; must have been all those beers I'd had for breakfast, but I was out of patience by then at any rate and I was determined to get a peep out of him. I tried asking him what was in the bag, kinda joking like, seeing as how he clutched it so tightly, but he wouldn't budge. He started getting angry, though, his whole face turning red, and he finally screamed it was "none of your fucking business what's in this bag" and that is when I kinda lost it. I didn't really mean to take my eyes off the road that long, but when I turned around to confront him he made for that bag like he had a gun or something in it.
It was a good thing you were paying attention, because you pinned his arm and kept him from pulling out whatever it was he was reaching for, right as I looked back at the road...just in time to swerve back in our lane and miss that truck coming the other way. I'd overcorrected, though, and started spinning off into the gravel on the shoulder...I was jerking the wheel pretty hard, trying to get us back on solid pavement, and out of the corner of my eye I saw his door open and him go rolling out, down the embankment and to the bottom of wherever that slope ended.
I couldn't believe you'd managed to hang on to that bag, somehow, in all that swerving and slamming back and forth, but there it was, sitting in your lap. It was ours, now, and it was going to Mexico with us! Man, did we ever have a blast down there.
Do you still have that tattoo?
Re: Impalas, margaritas and senoritas...