CRUISIN'
He knew it was wrong, but he was rushing into a headlong, head-on with fate. This was an undeniable collision with his past, present, and future.
He pushed his foot down on the exelerator and felt the car surge forward, the powerful engine roaring the way his own turmoil had been for weeks. He was on a collision course with destiny, and until he hit her head on, he had little concern for anything else.
The car shuddered and juddered along the dirt road, practically skipping across its surface. He realized he was at risk of losing control at any minute, but he felt like he had been out of control already for weeks.
For a moment, he felt he would lose everything. The car skidded across the loose gravel, sliding aimlessly into the trees that lined the narrow dirt road. This was it. He was a dead man. Then, at the very last possible second, just as a massive tree trunk threatened to kiss the driver side window, the wheels caught. The car jolted back to the centre of the dirt road and with a clutch of rubberized teeth, bit into the loose gravel and rocketed forward.
He was going too fast and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do to slow down.
He reached down and ripped a can of beer from the flimsy plastic net that held it in place. He wasn't drunk, hadn't had a drink in years in fact, but he wished he was now.
His entire world was on the cusp of extinction. He was on the verge of becoming another obsolete dinosaur on its tragic projectory towards extinction.
He would not - could not - accept that fate.
He was a man on a mission and the fate of his world relied on getting him where he needed to be. Sobre or not, he would make sure it worked out that way.
He was on a mission.
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