a big-box and a liquor barn. Outside of which, were posted several want ads. The driver and his four or five passengers were down on their luck. The passenger-side wiper-blade had split right after the last blizzard - which came down late February.
A bumblebee landed upon the torn rubber, and then flew off. Perhaps the little creature wanted to distance itself from the foulness going on inside. The little bug found a better hangout - a picnic table, upon which a soda can and a half eaten portion of catsupy fries laying in a bed of various other food containers. It buzzed around the soda can, but found a beverage more to its liking - none other than a partially consumed tumbler of Grandma Evan's Sweet Tea. The beverage was expensive - $6.99 for a 12-ounce serving - and probably had been purchased from the StellaDeer kiosk, located just inside the big-box; was one of the few containing, atleast some, real sugar. The bumblebee, after partaking the banquet, landed upon a dandelion, one which grew not far from the parked three-seater.
"Gimmee a hit a that," a passenger - sitting in the middle seat, between two other, larger passengers - grabbed for the little brown bottle, which was being passed over him/her. The mook, sitting to his/her right belched into his/her face a "say please." He and the other guy then laughed. Left mook then pointed to the back, where seat #3 had been taken out and replaced with a grimy piece of frayed, threadbare carpet.
Meanwhile, the couple up front were shot gunning each other, while passing a bottle of cheap bourbon. The girl cranked up the cd player, to drown out the noise coming from the back. Teather's new cd was crushing. She began jerking and making noises of her own. Her boyfriend's motions were not in kind. His heel pinched her finger as he began climbing over the seat.
"What th...?"
"Shut it ...!" The third scornful word isn't fit for this post, neither is his description of a certain natural process, which our Lord of Lords has ordained for women.
Outside, the little bee had, evidently, more than enough. It flew off - not caring to stick around for act two, where the almost empty little bottle is thrown to the back of the van. Needful to say, there was barely a sip left, for the individual who had put up with ... all that.
The four hours nearly up, the driver turned on the engine, in pursuit of another spot - and one more profitable. After all, they lolligagged long enough, and needed to score.
"Aawww," the girl sneered, "wudjalookit who just pulled up." She took a swig of bourbon, and handed it back to her boyfriend, who about finished it off. Meanwhile, inside her bag, laying at the bottom, was a small bottle of the "good" stuff, but that was to pre-party, before the party later on. And she wasn't sharing with any of those people either. The girl glowered. A beam of sunlight caught "Mmrss-sez Cleevrrr"s engagement ring. The mid-thirtyish woman's long nails were painted a bright pink. The girl continued glowering, polish probably cost a bundle. She muttered something about rich people.
"Rock-n-roll!" She ordered her boyfriend, the driver of her van. He pulled forward, barely missing a truck, into the space, already occupied by June's little green datsun. Her plastic hood was too little for the van's super-duper metal grille. Her headlights popped like bubble-gum, the hood crinkled like an off-brand soda can. "BOOF!" The hood folded more, steam and liquid poured from the radiator, oil oozed from a crack in the engine block.
"MOLLY, NO!" June screamed, but too late. Molly was already out of the car, with baseball bat in hand. From within the van, eyes became saucers, jaws dropped. The van backed up, crashing into two vehicles parked in the next row, and denting a third. The creeps hightailed out of there, barely missing two teens - one staring into his phone, the other fixated on a top-heavy, boyishly slender clownhead.
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