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Boredom struck me to death more than once this year-I was left writing about
an old lady getting mangled by a semi-truck doing eighty miles an hour down
a deserted highway. This was a typical tragic storyline, and I couldn't
add much thrills and chills to it, but I came up with an idea-what if the
old lady survived this terrible ordeal and somehow disapeared shortly
thereafter-say, like a reappearing apparition, a ghost with a thud-or maybe
the "little old lady that lives on the fast lane"?
The night was hot and steamy like being in the back kitchen of a SooChow Inn
cooking up gyozas under the overbearing heat lamps and frantic order calls
from up front adding to the confusion here-like cofuscious say-"man who
make a living in undesirable condition, produce undesirable things"
So this old lady was an undesirable thing, and nobody knew her, so hence no
one could identify her, face, residence and so forth-I can define her as
semi-crippled and shriveled beyond repair-she uses no prostetics to help
herself, because she is in some way, ok.-I mean crippled doesn't have to
mean "unable" here-she does what she does because she is something that is
undescribale-so our description here will be irrelevant and for this story
would be a mistake to "not" give her the advantage-
The semi-truck came swerving out of control around mile marker 17, doing
about 56mph and gaining speed, just out of the bend I figure 80+. Must be
whacked on speed, and the driver doesn't see the old lady-It is dark, and
the steamy night is hot, and the man is obviously in a hurry to get where
ever he is going-she isn't-she stops herself in the median, or rather she
straddles the divided line in the highway and raises her fists at the sky-
"You son of a bitch!" she yells-SMACK!
No funeral, no relatives, no flowers-no one even showed up to identify her
wrecked body. The driver went to prison for manslaughter-and well, mom is
probably in heaven, still pissed off at something-she sleepwalks, every
night-some nights she bends over and howls at the moon naked-and some
nights she turns into a wherewolf and runs after men-go figure, our family
can't decide what to do with mom-she sends them packing, stacking and
sometimes sends them to prison, for reasons our family will never tell.



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The following comments are for "The Fast Lane"
by Wetice

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