want to see what Ive been writing in my spare time? (ultra long)

[pdiggitydogg]

It was dark. Darkness was all around…like water on a rainy day…it was everywhere. The dark, inky blackness covered everything like a heavy blanket; shadowing the landscape.
I pulled out my phone and pressed the button on the side. The Motorola’s soft amber glow shone like a beacon on the edge of a sea-side cliff. ‘No Service’ the LCD read…the heap of Nextel garbage was at its norm. Moving my thumb over the face and finding the left button I pressed it to force the reset onto the main screen. 11:17pm
“He’s late”, I blamed…quickly cutting myself off… It was entirely possible that he had tried to reach me. As I said, the Nextel was at its normal form of being without service. Reaching for the Motorola’s tip, I ripped out the antenna’s extension with my typical disgust. It snapped to the maximum distance and I set the newly darkened-screened phone on the center of the Honda’s dusty dash.
“I need to clean this.” I thought to myself. The Honda was in rare form as it sat in the lightless parking lot. The interior slightly dusted with skin remnants and dirt, the floor littered with several leaves and ripped bits of notebook paper. One or two oily finger prints marked the passenger’s front window while the rear glass was fogged from minute dirt particles and moisture from lack of cleaning. The dark silence was broken by the sharp chirp from the Motorola. The phone regained service.
Reaching for the phone I wondered, “Maybe there’s a voicemail” out-loud to myself. Opening the flip cover I was reacquainted with the familiar amber glow. Directing my way through menus I dialed in the phones voice mail system and entered in my custom lengthy pass number, 7422656. Alphabetically, it spelled my universal password of ‘piccolo’. Having to remember only one password for everything makes it simple…I wasn’t exactly worried about people gaining access to my email account and learning that “Free porn” and “Great credit limits” were available to me…and me alone… Placing the Motorola to my cancer-doomed head, I listened as the program indeed told me I “have mail”.
“Hey Pat, is on for tonight. We’re meeting down in the industrial park on ’24, instead. Get down here ASAP”
The message from Adam had finished and the digi-girl’s voice returned and dated the message at 11:11pm…I was late.
“It never fails,” I thought “not only does the Nextel fail (typical), but the spots been moved again.”
Tossing the phone into the din beneath the hand-brake lever I reached for the keys that were sunken into the faux-leather that was the shift boot cradle. Feeling through the jumble of metal and plastic I found the ‘oh-so-familiar’ Honda engraved key and jammed it into the ignition, stepped on the clutch and turned the key.
Within seconds, the 1.98L over-bored B18C Turbo Civic hybrid came to life. With a slight twist of my wrist on the switch, lights blazed the concrete and that custom glow of JDM amber lit the cabin. Gauges flashed with readings of temperature and oil at optimum. Giving the gas a slight nudge, only in hopes of warming the engine quicker, the air/fuel gauge danced with glows of green bars. From outside the 3”, stealthily painted, flat black exhaust gave the low hum of an awakened dragon, except this dragon’s flames burned only on the inside of its alloy heart.
The aligned pistons rose and fell with ferocity unknown to the outside world. The dragon’s lungs inhaled precious oxygen through the 70mm bored Honda Type R throttle body, guiding it through the main primaries of the intake manifold. All this engineering magic of Japanese cleverness occurred out-of-sight beneath a plate of carbon-kevlar.
After a few moments of idleness and listening to the Alpine’s finely produced music, I firmly planted my size 11.5 Adidas encased foot onto the ACT Stage II equipped clutch pedal and wrapped my hand around the black-stitched leather OE Honda shift knob. With grace and fluid motion I slid the dual-bent arm into first and slowly released my clutch pedal from the floor, forcing the car into a slightly bogged roll. Turning my way out of the parking lot I feather the accelerator…no need for calling upon the dragon’s ruthless power if it wasn’t called for…
The Momo engraved EK Civic Type R steering wheel had a slight chill to the leather from moments of rest in the dark lot. Spinning it this was and that, I maneuvered my way across the pavement. Coming near the road and pressing the brake, caliper pistons pressed pads to rotors behind bronze rubber-coated wheels.
Dotted along the empty road, manila lights brightened the area, easily pointing out the dozing police officer “hiding” on the shoulder, a few hundred yards down the road.
“Keep up the good work, Mr. Officer.” I said to myself as I turned out onto the road. Maintaining the night vigil always comes as a priority to the local law; that much was obvious. Nearing the end of the back road and nearing Baldwin, I successfully kept the dragon’s power in check and avoided conflict with “The Man”.
Patiently waiting for the now meaningless traffic signal to change green, I flipped through the MP3 disc; looking for the beat that was “just right” for the moment. (Contrary to common belief, I did not think a subwoofer was needed in my car, “No need for added weight.” I always thought.) The Talib folder came up on disc and I removed my finger from the electronics and reacquainted my right hand with the leather of the shift knob. Red changed to green and I drove myself onto the main drag of Baldwin Rd.
Cruising along at a steady, legal clip of 45mph I made my way down the road, stopping again, here and there, at the numerous stop lights that controlled the busy traffic of the mall area. Coming to the final signal of the area, I gave a silent sigh of relief…I could now “just cruise” without all this meaning less stopping for lights that controlled no cars other than myself.
This final light happened to be in front of the popular, yet aptly tricky McDonalds (tricky because we all know how they con us, we the belligerent people of America, into eating fatty foods, which, for unknown reasons, cause people to become overweight…) The lot of the devilishly clever eatery was occupied by several cars, trucks, and people, who were milling around, not unlike cattle in a caged pen; they ventured not past the pavement.
Being a mild fall night, the windows of the Honda were slightly cracked to allow a fresh breeze to enter the cabin. This breeze newly accented with scent of fries and onions mixed strangely with that of the JDM smell of “squash” (which in reality, smelled more like that of limes) from the air freshener.
Waiting for the light to change and looking around at the dark stores, a common word pricked my ears and forced me to turn my head back toward the McDonalds…“Ricer”.
Now pulling out of the lot was a solely-driven 2001 series Mustang GT. Rumbling with brute force, eight pistons rolled the GT around the back drive and up to the light into the right lane next to me. Squealing brakes halted the machine to a quick stop and a limo-tint darkened window rolled down revealing a slightly-balding man in his later twenties early thirties.
“Hey, Ricer! Why don’t you buy a real car?” asked the obviously intelligent man, who immediately followed up his inquiry with a rev of the ‘Stang, which was now clearly blown with the power of a supercharger strapped parasitically to the V8. Shouts and jeers rose from the “cattle” within the lot.
“So come on, Ricer…show me what your ‘Jap-crap’ can do”…the man was clearly as “smart as a whip”.
Giving a quick glance around for the “all-clear”, and noticing nothing, I gave the GT a rev back. Rpm’s jumped to 4000 and dropped back to 1000 in an instant, as the lightened flywheel lost momentum. My eyes moved to the boost gauge as my mind jumped from thoughts of “I love boost” and then to the Hondata’s s200 program on the chipped p28 ecu.
Glancing back at the “old man” I gave the Honda another rev, higher this time… The blow-off valve resounded with a “pshhh” of escaping gasses as boost from the turbo “leaked” out. Clearly, some of the audience in the lot knew a thing or two about turbo driven cars and several “ooo’s” and “ahh’s” escaped into the air between the growls of American Muscle and Japanese Technology.
Turning back to the road I twisted leather in both hands… In my left I wrenched slightly on the wheel, feeling for a good grip; preparing for torque-steer. In my right I slammed shifter into first, gearing up for the start and for show of “Bring it on”. Peripheral vision on my right, told me he was doing the same. The GT gave a lurch forward several inches…also just for show…I rolled up to level the start. Two pairs of eyes focused on the triple-signal above the street below…waiting…watching for the green.
My right foot sunk heavily on the accelerator; tachometer needle raised and hovered at “3”. Orange reflected on the green light’s hood…ready… A second later orange faded away and red flashed above….set… Less than a millisecond later the signal’s green light flooded the street…go… The quiet-calm anticipation was broken by the sound of screaming tires as torque spun wheels and concrete tore at rubber. “Smells like burning” would have been said, as the road received a new layer of black.
At that same moment, green light was overpowered by alternating flashes of blue and red... the GT had only “raced” a few feet before my friend, the vigil policeman made the scene. I had noticed his turn out onto Baldwin soon after checking my gauges prior to revs. Interestingly enough, I had only planned on pulling my routine “Marty McFly Maneuver” and leaving my opponent to race off on his own…while I stayed “legal” and safe back at the light’s line. Somehow…what occurred was better.
Seeing that only the Mustang peeling out of control and blasting off into the night, the police officer waved only him off to the shoulder, simultaneously giving me, the innocent bystander and discrete import car, the go-ahead to be on my way. In passing, the driver of the Mustang gave me a courteous wave of his middle finger. Red and blue continued to dance in my mirrors while I continued on my way down Baldwin heading for ’24. It was already a nice way to start the night…

not done...still planning on another few pages or so...if you dont like it...I dont care...its all in fun. oh, and i know its not exactly 100% realistic, but, no one said it had to be...

[Shaved &/or Laid]

DEEZAMN MY EYES GOT FU(KED UP!

thats long. Throw in some J.lo sex and ill buy a copy

[ebpda9]

that's too long

[pdiggitydogg]

guess it could have been larger text

good story, little bit too much detail for my taste, but good.

[Kyle]

beauty...pure beauty
i like it

[pdiggitydogg]

thank you...i like it too

[mylittlecivic]

awesome, writing is a great thing

its awesome.

[pdiggitydogg]

thank you

think i'll take a break from it for awhile...not really feelin the writing now (guess I used up all my creativity)

[MAXed Out]

Nice bro i was really into it. Keep up the good work.

[mylittlecivic]

it sounds like something i would do when some idiot tries to race me esp. in the wrong area. I liked the descriptiveness

Yeah, thumbs up on that one. Good work.

[pdiggitydogg]

thanks

when i started it I hadnt planned on a car story...more along the lines of someone waking up to nothingness...just the dark. strange voices speaking to them and perhaps more along the lines of the psych