Written by Pointer
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Tags: Angel, Baby, Driver

Monday, 19 February 2007

And with a great cloud of oil-blue exhaust and without a hardy high ho silver the trio sped off to deliver the newly restored bike and angelic rider to their destination if not their destiny. Along the way the often destitute driver and his new-found companions shared the following trialogue:

BA: You have no idea how grateful I am for the heavenly help you have given me!

Paz: Watch it, girl

B: Get the fuck out of here!

BA: no, really you were a God-send.

B: Why don't you watch where you are goin'

BA: No, you're right I'm sure I could have avoided the flat if I had been more vigilant

B: stick it up your ...nose!

Paz: I told you to watch it!

BA: Excuse me ?

B: What did you say?

BA: I said excuse me...what do you want me to do?

B: Nothing, Peach ! I wasn't talking to you. This is just how I drive...constant dialogue ..you know with the assholes out there!

Paz: What a piece of work!

BA: I know what you mmmeeaan!

And the Baby Angel began to cry. Now Buster could handle most any assault upon his emotions . He had scars to prove it from baseball bats to lead pipes and trash can covers but the tears of a sweet woman were more than even his alligator hide could bear. Pulling over with a suddenness that only true sensitivity or helpless panic could inspire our trio found themselves on the side of the road."What's wrong " , Buster blurted. "Are you talking to the t-t-t-traffic?" Lilithanne blubbered. "No, t-t-to you , Buster babbled.

And so they continued with inane attempts to communicate as Paz carried on her usual commentary on the sadness of the human condition. Some how after countless forays into the land of what do you mean and how's that our manejador in motley managed to apprehend his passenger's pity.

Of course, it was a man, or some poor excuse of one, Buster could identify since he had played the part in countless comedies on the stage we call life. There were the hopeful signs and the promising posturing and then as sadly predictable as the storm after the calm came the stammering, the halting hesitation and the exigent exit stage left, right or right down the center aisle if necessary.

All Paz could have said, though he was too delicate to pronounce the words was- told you so. All Buster could manage was a curse at a near-sideswiping tractor trailer - "Bastard!"

Lilithanne, the Baby Angel, looked at him through her tear-beaded eyelashes and whispered: "Thank you". Leaning over to the hapless harlequin clutching his steering wheel with desperation the heart-broken heavenly creature kissed him on the cheek.

Buster froze in time like an insect trapped in amber and when he finally came to the bike and the angel were gone.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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