The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome
Andy looked down at me from where he stood by the driver’s seat, his blue eyes boiling. His mouth was open in an ugly grimace. And then he reached over to the metal lever and slammed the bus door shut about four inches in front of me.
I stood very still as tears ran freely down my face, collecting on the sides of my neck and in the center of my clavicle. I heard Andy start swearing, shouting, and briefly he even sobbed.
Guilt and panic gripped me suddenly. I had a severe attack of motor tics, my head whipping to the side hard enough to be painful. I had to start making a conscious effort to suppress verbal manifestations so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. Andy wailed and I hissed, 'shit!' under my breath.
Abruptly the black panels of the bus door were shaking as the whole bus rocked. I heard one loud crash, followed by several smashing noises and a few thuds, all accompanied by unhinged cursing and shouting. I made two tight fists, smacked my legs hard, and then sprinted for my car.
I had bad knees, I wasn’t supposed to run, but I had to, I had to, it was necessary. The sharp pain with each impact with the pavement was like an awl or ice pick digging into each meniscus, patella, violating my joint space. I just ran faster. By the time I made it to my car, I was limping, and my lungs had that burning, acidic pain from being in poor shape.
I turned the key in the ignition, and 'New Year's Day' came blasting on, it was one of my favorites. I screamed in frustration, and tore the cd out, throwing it in the back of the car. I picked out a Murderdolls cd instead and put it in, remembering hearing somewhere that they had been dicks to BVB when they toured together.
I knew where to go.
Motherfucker! Serves me right, trying to update from my phone! Lost the whole thing! Fuck, I hope it works this time. Mothershittingdickfist!