“AND THAT’S ENOUGH WORK FOR ONE DAMNED DAY,” said ‘Big’ John Hale Senior after going through his business’s weekly earnings in his office, which was located at the back of the Repair Shop.

  Sitting near him in an old, crackled leather chair was his younger, Meth-Addicted brother Luke, who was just finishing off his EIGHTH Splatz beer for the day.

  “How much did we make this week, Big J?” the gangly and bearded drunk/drug-addict asked after chugging down the last of his beer.

  “Well, let me put it to you this way, Luke. We made enough dough to get by for the next TWO MONTHS and to buy out ALL THE BOOZE down at Lucky’s tonight… FOR OURSELVES, of course. Heh, heh, heh…”

  “HA-HA-HA!!! That’s what I like to fuckin’ hear, Johnny! HA-HA!!!”

  As his father and uncle laughed like hyenas in the office, the socially self-exiled outsider ‘Little’ John Hale Junior was busy working on the V8 Engine of the murdered out 1972 Chevelle off to the side in the Repair Shop.

  Wiping some grease off his face with a ratty rag, the eighteen-year-old loner looked over at his father and uncle in the office.

  “Fuckin’ assholes,” John muttered under his breath as his abusive father and worthless uncle basked in the business’s weekly earnings… Just as they always did week after week.

  Shaking his head, John slung the rag over his left shoulder and placed his hands on the front edge of the car’s hood.

  Right as John slammed the hood down, Big John and Luke had just walked out of the office with sick grins painted on their gaunt, pale-skinned faces.

  “HEY! WATCH IT, BOY!” Big John yelled at his son. “That ride’s a classic!”

  “YEAH! Heh, heh,” drug-addled Luke followed. “Watch it, ya fuckin’ PUNK-ASS!”

  Shaking his head, John sighed, “Ugh… So, where are you two headed tonight?”

  He already knew the answer to that question.

  “The Moon… WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK, DUMBSHIT?!” Big John barked.

  Glaring at his father, John gritted, “Lucky’s.”

  “BING-BONG! Looks like we have a ‘winner’ here, Johnny! HA-HA!!!” Luke chuckled as he nearly fell over due to how intoxicated he was.

  “Hmph… More like a fuckin’ LOSER,” Big John scornfully spat.

  John kept bitterly silent as he forced himself to focus solely on the Chevelle.

  It wasn’t working.

  As the outside went about ‘trying’ to inspect the Chevelle for any exterior flaws that he might have missed, Big John instructed said, “Luke and I are gonna be out pretty late tonight so it’s YOUR JOB to watch the shop.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Like every other Saturday night,” John distastefully replied with his dark eyes still fixated on the Chevelle. “Yeah, I’ve got it covered, Dad.”

  “You better if you know what’s good for ya, dick-nose!” Luke seared. “And besides, it’s not like you’ve got any friends to hang out with or anything! HA-HA!!!”

  Glaring at his ignorant uncle, John remarked, “I’d rather have no friends than rely on a bottle of BURNSPHERE to keep me company every waking second of the day and night.”

  Eyes widened, Luke gave his nephew a surprise as he started, “HUH? Urgh… Why you sonuva…”

  “COOL IT, LUKE,” Big John ordered with his brow lowered, causing Luke to ‘slightly’ settle down. “Forget about this little bitch. HIS MOM SURE DID.”

  Upon hearing his abusive father talk about his drug-addict mother, John clenched his fists down at his sides.

  Noticing this immediately, Big John waited for him to do something.

  Wanting his son to strike, Big John continued to verbally taunt his son as did Luke.

  Not wanting to feed into his father and uncle’s sick and immature games, John reluctantly and begrudgingly unclenched his fists.

  Not getting what he wanted out of his son, Big John angrily barked, “Urgh… C’mon, Luke! Let’s leave this FUCKIN’ PUSSY alone!”

  Big John and Luke then stomped out of the repair shop, leaving ‘Little’ John behind to watch over the cars and the rest of the shop/gas station.

  Once his father and uncle had left the building, John let out an angry yell.

  Throwing his ratty hand rag off to the side, John slammed his hands down on the left side of the Chevelle’s hood.

  Letting out numerous huffs, grunts, and growls, John thought about how much that he wanted to hurt his terrible father.

  Big John made John’s life a living hell ever since his mother ‘hit the highway’ outta town and loved every minute of it.

  John just wanted to go. He wanted to have what little common sense that his drug-addicted mother had and leave his father and uncle behind… Along with the REST of Keokuk.

  There was nothing in the ‘Kuk. Nothing at all… For John, at least.

  To John, he had no TRUE purpose there. He felt nothing for school and where college had once been an option for the outsider’s escape it was now no more, sadly. His uncontrollable anger and rage ruined that for him.

  So, as John basked in his own self-loathing a thought opened up in his mind.

  Remembering back to earlier in the day when Josh had stopped by the shop to get some gas, John realized that he was invited to the ‘kegger party’ that he was having out at his Parents’ Cabin deep in Shimmick Recreational Forest.

  John knew where the Cabin was. He had partied there several times back when he was on the football team and was still ‘relevant’ (by high school standards).

  Standing back up, John wanted to prove his father and uncle wrong by going out to the Kegger.

  “This fuckin’ shithole can look after itself for one night,” John said aloud to himself as he pulled off his work shirt and hat.

  Revealing the tight, black shirt that he had on beneath it with a white, long-sleeved thermal shirt on under it, John went into his father’s office.

  Not actually owning a car himself (because he didn’t have the money to afford one) John opted to swipe the keys to the ‘72 Chevelle.

  Grabbing them from his father’s safe, which was kept beneath his office desk, the harrowing loner walked out of the office with keys in hand.

  Grabbing his old, black leather motorcycle jacket off of a nearby coat rack, John threw it on, which made him feel like a million bucks.

  Once he was inside of the ‘72 Chevelle, John stuck the key in the ignition.

  Turning it forward, the outsider felt the purr of the V8 engine coming from beneath the hood.

  John then smirked as rubbed his hands up and down the smooth sides of the black steering wheel.

  Grabbing hold of the gear shifter with his right hand, John smirked as he said while the garage door to the shop automatically opened via electronic key clicker, “Let’s fuckin’ party.”