Keeper of The Garage

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It was 5:30. I couldn’t sleep.

Figured as much when you have a nap at four. My body starts fucking with me the minute it knows I’m on vacation. It will keep me running at trucker hours when I have an audit first thing in the morning but when the only thing on the morning agenda is to beat off, the roosters are yelling at me to go back to sleep.

I decide to make the most of it and hit the gym. Doing something productive couldn’t hurt. I crank up the Gloria Estefan and dance my way into the kitchen. I scoop a bit of the red powered more powerful than cocaine and mix it with my tap water. The mixture that is guaranteed to take years off my life but it sure does make my biceps look nice.

After strapping on my chucks I head out the door. My car is an ice box. My hands barely can grip the wheel. Winter is finally here. No more booty shorts. It’s yoga pant weather. I give it a few minutes before jetting down the parking garage. The gym doesn’t open until 6:00 anyways.

I take the long way trying to kill more time. Jamming out to more Gloria. A true Cuban princess. I drive down the parking garage. Only one car in the whole place. An old Ford with the trunk open. Exactly what I expected for a holiday weekend. I park in my usual spot and look at the clock, 5:50. My gym is fucking stickler about opening up early. Especially with a unique name like 24 hour fitness.

Fuck freezing outside. I’ll play on my phone for a few minutes. Weird. A girl I’d been chatting with on OKC hands me out her number. A cute Latin chick that says she’s always down for tacos. I start texting, “Real talk, who does-”

HOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The phone drops to the passenger seat.

HHHOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!

I look up. The Ford is angled, about an inch from my bumper. What the fuck? I’m in a parking space. I look at the driver.

“FUCK YOU!” she says. She’s got the double birds flying in the air.

Who tha….. What tha…… I pull up to the driver side door. My shoulder pops cranking the window down. I start to speak, “Excuse-“.  The motor roared. The Ford darted past me. Dale Earnhardt would shit himself on the speed.

Well, that takes care of that. I pulled up into the nearest spot and went back to my phone. 5:55. Even with all the excitement, I still got a couple minutes.

SQUEEEEAAAAAK! DUNK! DUNK!

My head flinches to the rear view. The Ford is flying around the turn back my way!

Oh fuck this shit! I’m not about to reason to a bitch with automatic seat belts. They clearly have a screw loose. I throw my car in gear and drive out of there. I get to the top level and a Blonde in a Mercedes drives past.

Poor thing doesn’t stand a chance. Good Luck.

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