Ride the Red Bullet

© Daniel Verastiqui

Johnny woke up that morning and on the holy name of his mother, couldn’t find his car keys. He searched the apartment frantically, even going so far as to check behind the filter in the air conditioner. They weren’t there. Nor were they in the freezer behind two blocks of frosted peas or in the stove on the middle rack, which was his favorite of the three. After he checked the remote control cozy on the arm of the couch, he stood with his hands on his hips in the center of the living room, using his x-ray vision to peer through his furniture.

Truth of the matter was that Johnny had not driven home the night before and in fact, hadn’t even driven away. Laura had come over, hornier than the toad of the same name, and gotten him utterly loaded. So ten minutes after she had arrived, Johnny being the lightweight that he is, they left together in his Chevy Blazer and rode the Red Bullet through town, past the Drunken Donuts bar a...