The boys were sitting at a stop light, waiting for their chance to see what the Chevelle could do; and, of course, neither of them had on seat belts. They were young and invincible; the world was at their feet.
“I can’t believe your uncle owns this car,” Vin replied as his eyes danced across every inch of it, fantasizing about what Velle would look like once she got restored.
Mike held the clutch in and started to rev the engine. The small family of four in the car beside them all turned in a shocked surprise at the noise the Chevelle was making. Mike flipped them off and let go of the clutch. The rear tires spun for a moment; and then the car blasted through the red light, narrowly missing a semi-truck.
Mike looked over at Vin, as the speedometer climbed. “Listen to her sing man. That’s real fucking music!”
“Maybe she can sing, but I want to see her fucking play!”
“Hold onto your ass,” Mike replied, pushing the car through the gears, sending the metal machine flying down the road at a blinding breakneck speed.
The Chevelle rushed up onto the interstate, and the speed of the car kept climbing.
Mike moved, bobbed and weaved the car through traffic, tires screeching with each move, as fast heavy metal music blasted. They were flying by the seat of their youth and loving every minute of it.
Then it happened.
It happened quickly . . . to be continued next Sunday at 6 A.M. Did you miss a post? Check out the Category “Tales from the Blog” in order to catch up. Have a great Sunday.