*Magnify*
    April     ►
SMTWTFS
 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Archive RSS
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/131493-Desert-Rat
by RatDog
Rated: 18+ · Book · Fantasy · #274453
A Journal of my adventures in the world I inhabit while I'm asleep.
#131493 added November 3, 2001 at 3:27am
Restrictions: None
Desert Rat
I'm a teenager, living with my stepfather in a run down building just outside of a small town in the desert. The building was formerly a small factory of some sorts, but my stepfather has turned it into a pirate radio station. He does a talk show. People call in and talk about their favorite subjects: UFO's, conspiracy theories, communicating with the dead, how to avoid paying income tax, etc. He has stacks of papers and reference books and such topics piled up in the studio. We live in the rooms in the back.

I drive into town in my truck, a dented red and white vintage 70's Ford. I'm on my way to work at the gas station. As I turn the corner a man bounces off the front passenger fender of my truck. I stop, get out of the truck, and run over to him. He stands up, starts yelling at me: "You trying to kill me? I'll sue your ass! I'm gonna go call my lawyer right now if you don't pay me for my injuries!"

I tell the man I don't have any money, I'm broke. He walks into the store ranting that he's going in to call his lawyer unless I come up with some cash. A teenage mother with her toddler girl is standing in front of the store panhandling. She calls me over, tells me that the guy is a scammer, she's seen him con a couple of people already by running out and getting "hit" by their cars. I thank her for the information, give her the change I have in my pocket. I look inside the store. The con artist isn't calling any lawyers, he's buying a pack of cigarettes. I leave.

After work, I drive back home. When I get there the landlady is standing out front. She tells me my stepfather has cleared out. She hands me a note he left, it says now that I'm eighteen I'm on my own. He's taken his radio transmitting equipment, but left most of his magazines, papers, and other junk behind. The landlady says if I pay the rent I can stay, otherwise take whatever I want and get out. I stand there, looking at the piles of paper, trying to decide where I should go and what, if anything, of his stuff I should take with me.

© Copyright 2001 RatDog (UN: cyam_01 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
RatDog has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password: <Show>
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/131493-Desert-Rat