***NEW CONTENT! “COY RIDE” by “THE QUICK FLICK CRITIC” added on 2/20/22***

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in article 1

Coy Trip

by John Smistad

“The Fast Flick Critic”


It occurred at flashpoint. One second she was wedged into the again seat of an getting older Plymouth sedan, parked on a quiet suburban road, minding the chrome steel pots and pans Joan was struggling to promote door-to-door.


The following she is plunged into hell. The driving force’s door swings open. A person vaults behind the steering wheel. Turning the important thing Joan left within the ignition, he stomps on the accelerator pedal.


Stepping off the porch after one more, “Sorry. Not “, Joan screams, “Hey! That is my automotive, goddamit! Cease you asshole!


She watches as her brown and tan tank tears off down Cherry Tree Lane, takes a screeching proper flip, then speeds out of sight. Snatching her iPhone from her coat pocket, Joan punches 911.


“I’ve simply been fucking car-jacked!, she shouts. “And so they’ve acquired my mom!




Adrenaline surging, eyes extensive as saucers, he throws his head again in ecstatic laughter. “A fuckin’ reward! They need to all be so rattling simple. ‘Chop store’ gonna cream all over this journey, motherfucker!”


“Younger man, you could return this automobile without delay!


“What the……” He twists his physique round utterly. Squeezed in opposition to the precise rear door, almost buried underneath a mound of second-rate family items, an aged girl glares at him with searing eyes of silver.


“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This shit ain’t happenin’, man.”


He slams on the brakes. Bolting out of the automotive, he sprints across the entrance of the jumbo jalopy and jerks open the lady’s door.


Out! Proper now, outdated woman. I’m not fuckin’ playin’ with you!”


He grabs her arm and begins to drag. The high-pitched shrieking scorches his ears.


Cease! Please cease! I am paralyzed!


Releasing his grip, he recoils, staggering backward in shock. “Fuck. My first hostage, and she or he’s a rattling statue!


“My wheelchair is within the trunk.” she continues, her tone measured now. Calm. “The least you are able to do is go away me with some dignity, sir. You will discover the discharge lever on the ground, to the left of the motive force’s seat.”


Racing across the vehicle as soon as once more, he yanks the deal with. The hood pops open.


Shit!


After slamming the elevated steel down forcefully with two fingers, he frantically pulls a second lever. This time nothing occurs. Panic consumes him.


“Maintain pulling”, she instructs him. “It is exceedingly cussed.”


Cursing insanely, the sweat pouring down his face soaking a grimy t-shirt, and proper on the verge of tossing her out onto the sidewalk, they descend. Right away he’s surrounded. Sirens deafen. Swirling pink and blue lights blind. Service revolvers goal squarely.




In seconds his fingers are cuffed behind his again. His rights are dispatched. On this second he spies her by the Plymouth, showing fairly composed, speaking with an officer.


And he or she is standing.


“You lied to me! You ain’t paralyzed at all, bitch!


He lunges towards her. Two cops instantly step in to dam his path, restraining him from attacking.


She smiles, silver eyes twinkling.


“I did not mislead you, son. I actually am paralyzed.” She holds up her arm. “In my left hand.” Elevating her different arm, she wiggles her fingers farewell in mocking gesture.


As he’s ushered into the backseat of the police cruiser, and with relish unbridled, she provides this one final element.


“Oh, and the trunk?” she calls out to him. “Solely opens with the important thing!”


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