2.b.xii
The bossman
was having trouble keeping his car at an acceptable rate of speed. He prided himself on traveling at least twice
the speed limit of whatever roadway he found himself traveling on. At the moment, that would have been sixty
miles per hour, but for some reason the teenaged punk in front of him was
topping out at thirty-five. Worse, when there
was no possibility of passing, the prick slowed down to twenty. The bossman though he saw little beedy
bastard eyes in the kid’s rearview mirror, eager to spot the brimming hostility
of the following vehicle’s pissed off driver, taking pleasure, no doubt, in any
irritation he created.
The bossman
wished he had the self control to deny the teenager this joy, but every time a
passing opportunity opened up, peach-fuzz would hit the gas and the bossman
would reflexively pound the steering wheel.
Why did someone to whom pubic hair was still a novelty have a faster car
than him? The bossman punched his
dashboard. He wouldn’t even be out here
driving around if his office wasn’t such a mess. Still, it might afford some benefits. Should a
report come through concerning Corporate Man, he would be in a better position
to–
The street
opened up into two lanes. The bossman
swerved into the vacant one and slammed on the gas. His pubescent tormentor matched his
acceleration until they caught up to another car. One which happened to be in the bossman’s
lane, forcing him to slow down. He
glanced over and saw the young boy, and his pack of acned passengers, cackling.
“Asshole!” the
bossman yelled.
The teenager
slowed his car down, matching the pace of the vehicle currently blocking the
bossman’s forward progress. A
thunderstorm of abuse rained down across the bossman’s innocent, though not
quite unsuspecting, car’s interior.
