Get Out part II
     written by Boing

Ryan fished for a flashlight behind his seat. Once it was located, he opened his door, unsuspectingly allowing gravity to swing it hard into a waiting tree trunk. "Crap!" Eric hopped to the ground on the other side and they quickly took stock of the situation. "Lessee. One blown-out tire, two busted shock absorbers, zero guidance systems", Ryan sighed.

Eric bounced back, "Hey we can live without the shocks. Just go grab the spare and we'll drive 'til we find a gas station."

"Easy for you to say. That WAS the spare."

The two soaked in the silence and stared into the starry night. There was an unsettling combination of calm and suspense in the chilly autumn air - the trees threw twisted shapes upon the back of the van. In all of their years as LMP, not once had they missed a show - shows they had booked entirely themselves because they didn't need - heck, they didn't want a manager. And now they were playing the big arena, and they had no way to tell the outside world where they were at, or what their predicament was.

Eric walked to the center of the road and looked into the distance. The road faded into blackness. He couldn't help but feel a billion miles away from his home county - humble beginnings where he had played his first guitar, programmed his first mail order computer (a Sinclair ZX Spectrum with 16k, which he later upgraded to 48k), and kissed his first girl. Yet right here, right now, he didn't feel frustrated about missing their gig at the arena. It was almost like someone, or something, had led them to this happenstance.

Ryan rattled the change in his pocket, then exhaled and looked up. "Dude, ok, do we walk or wait? I don't trust this place, so we can't split up." Eric gently placed his iBook on the hood of the van and took out a shiny gold Krueggerand from his Juicy Jeans. "Heads we walk, tails we wait."

He coolly flipped the coin upwards. It danced in the air & batted moonlight back in both of their eyes. WHAM it landed in Eric's hand, and BAM he flipped it over to his wrist.

"Heads. We walk."



Son of Wham said on Oct 17, 2002:
Boing when r u going to rite more ? 8*D


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