This Dumb Matador
David Antrobus Posted on Friday, May 23, 2014 at 10:52PM 
The light's dwindling fast from a fresh spring day.
"There's a shiny black Crown Victoria top of yonder rise."
"Heat?"
"That'd be my guess."
"Keep driving, then?"
Out there on the edge of town the moths arrive, gather, start to cluster around streetlights. Gianluigi blinks, sighs, gets all righteous pissed.
"Carlos, you pull a U-turn here, and assumin' that's a cop, might as well scream you a badass motherfucker, see if you can't catch me. Seriously. You some kind of dumb matador type?"
Ha, matador type! Makes me laugh. Ain't even Spanish. Though I can't help but remember things: the bright, late sun shining off of warehouse walls, broken cinderblocks, graffiti mockery, reeking garbage, a dead dog beside a blackened grate, was only a half hour ago, if that.
"Yeah, well. Whatever. Hey, been wondering, since when did everyplace end up with them automatic doors with the yellow-and-black stickers?"
"Huh? What?"
"You know, science fiction shit. That shit's everywhere."
"Uh. Enough. I ain't interested in one single goddamned freakish thing you say no more, not ever. Please. Shut the fuck up and drive, yo."
"Sure, not a problem. Sunset's a thing, huh?"
Ever hear a wolf pack start to howl? Think about crystal chandelier tsunamis? Bridal falls in a hellstorm? How ladybugs get the worst STDs? Those are truths, like it or not.
Gianluigi looks right at me, his dry raisin eyes hard as bessemer coals. Harder.
"You're a fat, oily caucasian with nothin' to redeem you, and I'd save a chickenshit nazi child molester before I pissed on you if you were fully ablaze."
"Ha. Well, that's the chalk calling the snowfield white."
"Nah, puttano. Sicilian. That ain't caucasian. Ain't nigger, either, before you say it."
Don't want to say it but think it: Sicilian? Nah, brother, you plain American. Like me. Like most all of us. You think these delicate green leaves give one sacred everliving fuck about those ancient buried roots ten brown lifetimes below? Yeah? Exactly.
We both hold our breath but the cop never chases us, if he even is a cop, or ever was a cop, and before you know it we are far away from the big city when the bombs start fallin' like toxic black raindrops and I realize I'll never smell Sofia's neck again or ever again feel her sweet, warm breath on me, whatever, goddamnit. The horizon ignites and shears, over and over, while we drive.
You ever watch an iguana twitch on the end of a spit? Given the chance I'll roast all you fuckers alive, see if I don't. You see if I don't.
Reader Comments (8)
Wow, that sure kept me on my toes. And the ending was a real twist. Beautifully done. And I love the pic, too.
These short pieces are a lot of fun to write, Yvonne. Gotta thank Mader for that, for his Friday thing. And thank you for reading it and taking the time to comment.
Freaking hilarious the back and forth between the two characters. Yea there was a lot of foul language but it got me imagining the two in a car driving down a lowly lighted back road. Good work David.
Thanks, Gary, for not only reading but taking the time to comment. It's funny, I was answering some feedback on this earlier and during that email conversation I realised my dialogue was probably influenced by Tarantino movies, to some degree. Would explain the language and the humour. :)
Thanks for the shout. I'll start doing it every day if you promise to keep producing brilliant shit like this.
Pretty much everything I've written for your Friday thing I reproduce here on my blog. In fact, I usually link to it in the intro to my post (scroll back and see), but this time I didn't write an intro, so no link. Glad I got the chance to mention it in the comments, though—it's a great venue with good peoples. Rising tide, etc.
I love this so hard. :D
Laurie! Thanks for stopping by. Your stuff on there is awesome,