Dec 21 2015 11:24 pm
Frank drove down the road like a ghost. The remote interstate in central New York rolled ponderously through the hills, swinging broadly around nonexistent corners and along the outskirts of small towns with small churches. A line of storms had moved through quickly and the thunderheads were still over the landscape to the south, grey and ten thousand feet tall. Frank craned his head to get his eyes underneath the door frame to look up at them and it gave him vertigo and the car drifted onto the rumble strips.
The sky was bright blue behind the storm and most of the leaves on the trees were still turned around from the wind and showing their gray undersides. The road was barely wet and the sun was dropping lower in the sky as Frank drove west.
Frank thought of all the words he knew for big fish: pig, chunk, chunker, duker, slab, slaunch, beast, toad, walter, tank, bruiser. Shark? Did he know anyone who called big fish “sharks”? He couldn’t recall. What about “whale”? That would kind of make sense but he didn’t think anybody actually used that term to describe big fish.
It was almost dark when Frank hit Erie. He’d been driving for more than four hours, but he wanted to get to Traverse City by 7am. He’d stop if he had to, pull off into a rest stop, lay back in his seat and sleep for a few minutes, but he would fight it. He tried singing along with the radio, keeping the windows open, blasting the air conditioning, slapping himself in the face, but he kept nodding off.
He was just in Binghamton for work. He was a technician that traveled to factories all over the northeast to service big machines. The job in Binghamton was over in a day, which meant Frank and Cliff could leave early. Cliff was a sales rep from Charlotte who was there to smooth over the problems caused by the machine breaking down. Cliff was a tall, thick guy in his fifties with heavily styled thinning salt and pepper hair. He always wore a black leather jacket and silver chain bracelet. Cliff liked to push Frank around and make fun of him in front of the factory guys. He’d tell guys that Frank took it in the ass from all the sales reps at the yearly meeting and one time a random factory guy actually said “fag” under his breath when Frank walked by.
When Cliff left the factory he was excited, talking rapidly, saying goodbye, shaking hands with a big smile on his face. The plant manager didn’t want to go out for dinner and Cliff’s flight back to Charlotte didn’t leave for four more hours, which meant he had time to hit one of his favorite adult video arcades on the east coast. This particular “theater” had three different booths with glory holes, wall to wall mirrors, and no one cared at all what went on back there. Cliff was actually pretty versatile. He liked sucking dick as much as he liked getting his dick sucked, and he camped out in that place until the last possible minute.
As he stood in line at the gate in the airport and shuffled down the boarding ramp one or two small steps at a time, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the flight, he kept his face down and smiled and thought about the glorious three hours he spent at the theater and how he stands like a Minotaur when he cums.
Cliff got home late and his wife was already in bed. He drank beer and smoked cigarettes as he thumbed through some mail and then got on the internet for a while. The dog stayed in the corner keeping one eye on him the whole time.
The dog’s whining woke Cliff and his wife up in the early morning and she said that the dog had diarrhea in the house earlier and that she’d get up and let him out. Cliff said no and said that he’d shut the dog up and if that dog shit in the house with him at home it’d be the last time he’d shit anywhere.
Cliff walked right into the puddle of shit and yelled out “goddamn this stupid fucking dog.” Then Cliff’s wife could hear the dog wheezing and whining through Cliff’s hand that was clenched tightly around its mouth, the dog’s nails frantically scraping the linoleum floor in the kitchen as it was dragged towards the side door. The sound from the .22 came more quickly and quietly than she expected. The side door banged shut. She could hear Cliff cleaning up. He climbed back into bed and said, “I left him layin’ there. I’ll bury him in the morning.”
His wife said, “you will get your ass up and you will bury that stupid fucking dog right now.”