The priest dogs say God lives in the details. The government dogs say Revolution lives on the streets. The night before I died the first time, I found both.
“What was that?” I poked the Swissman in his ribs with my beer can, took a last swig and tossed it out the window, the clang of its fall punctuated by my belch.
"Didn’t see nothing.” Cole Swissler rapped his ringed fingers across the steering wheel and cut his eyes at me. Even in the dark I could tell he was sneering.
I twisted in my seat.
The Swissman gave me another glare, but he slowed, coasted a little onto the berm and braked. Our Mobi sighed a few times as it rolled to a stop, the pneumo tires adjusting to the uneven surface. “Turn around.”
“Party, you’re too radical.” He twisted backward over the seat and reached for another can of firewater. “Patrollers won’t be taking a piss break forever.” He located a swigger next to the road atlas and hefted it over the console. When he had the top popped, he took a long slow swallow and smacked his lips. “Now,” he said, “what are we turning around for?”
"Never mind, it's too late now." Sure enough, there were sirens flashing behind us.
We waited while a cop strolled up to the car and rapped on the driver side window. The Swissman rolled the window down. “Who are you?” The guy wasn't dressed like any cop I'd ever seen.
Swissler sneered at the cop and took another swig of firewater. “Literary police? You can’t arrest me for drinking and driving.”
“No sir, but I can arrest you for writing a disjointed opening that needs to be read several times before it is fully understood and that fails to inspire a single decent continuation.”
Opening: J.E. Irvin.....Continuation: Matthew