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Expressionless

The first really odd thing he asked himself was, “How long can I go without blinking?”

3 miles at 83mph.   But he knew he could do better.  Better was always there.  Better was a hard coach or maybe a bitchy mistress but there it stood.

You can do better,” said the voice, expressionless.

Nag, nag, nag.  There were a few miles when he felt good.  Right good.  Bob Seger “Roll me Away” road song good.  Now he knew the voice that slipped in over Bob Seger’s 10,000 cigarette perfectly gruffy voice, it was the “You can do better” voice.

Bastard.

The motor whirred along with the ruthless beauty of efficiency.  Cams spinning, injectors spitting and the uniform spark driven explosions belted him forward.  He thought he could hear the gears in the transmission.  The loudest noise was induction, the hungry suck of oxygen as the cylinders sucked in huge amounts of air before belching it out in a long rumble through the exhaust.

He rolled off and downshifted as he ran down a ramp toward a truck infested rest stop.  The bike backfired.

It’s running rich, he thought.

You can do better,” said the voice, expressionless.

Fuck you voice, he thought and then couldn’t decide if he should pull through one of the diagonal parking places that ran down the center of the lot or swing into the curb, cut a hard left and back up to the curb.  He picked the curb.  The bike seemed to sigh as he shut it off.  Leaning onto the kickstand it seemed to drop its shoulders and relax.  Inside himself he just needed to pee.

The bathroom was clean.  Generic.  Graffiti-proof.  As Grandpa used to joke he “did a bladder download”.  Grandpa was an engineer and it was an engineer’s joke. After a short clicking walk he was off the tiles and back onto concrete.  The hydraulics closed both doors behind him without a squeak.

Crappy parking job, he thought as he walked up to the bike.  It wasn’t centered in the spot but it wasn’t off the greasy, oily shit stain the cars behind when they overheated, pissed and puked after too hard a run.  How many clapped out cars had sat there and bled vital fluids?

You can do better,” said the voice, expressionless.

Mounting from the cop-side he pulled the bike up to met his ass as he sat down.  Denver was still 5 hours down the road.

You can do better,” said the voice, expressionless.

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About Brent Crash Allen

I Forgot

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