Core Strand

[Bagun]

I am but a simpleton. Uncouth and boorish in my ways, I managed to find myself in and out of trouble’s reach year in and out.

It is not my desire to be so, to feel the need to have a special feeling of having done something worthwhile in life, to feel every little fair bit removed, hair’s breath away from the unctuous preposterousness that besieged me, and in that I feel that it is such desires that led trouble to me.

Having despaired and running out of options, kindly relatives took note and proposed a job, and handed me a name-card.

On it was an address, and phone number.

An appointment was thus made, and upon reaching the premises I found out that I am required to be a truck driver of sorts, transporting sundry goods across town from the west coast to the east, and back, as well as wherever places the company has a foothold.

The boss asked me if I have a lorry driver’s license.

I nodded, even though I don’t have one.

A real one, that is.

Other than that, there’s nothing wrong so far with me operating plus sized vehicles of any sort.

-----

Petrusian and his sub Jimmy was assigned to show me the ropes.

They told me hop in with them on round-over trip, even gave me a map and stuff to prep me up beforehand.

I took one look and the scheduling and routes.

Schedule was tight, and a lot of lonely nights in the middle of nowhere.

Our route stretches as far as Pensiangan.

And I was dismayed.

-----

The day we set off was one that was moderately sunny, with a hint of dark clouds clinging vehemently from afar.

The cargo was mostly canned sardines, taters, onions and like in huge netted sacks.

Petrusian drove.

I sat next to him.

Jimmy was lying on the back seat, whittling away his time with some glossy mags.

I borrowed one from him, and flipped on to the center page, and there I was confronted with picture of a woman with a most luscious pair of tits.

Not bad.

It was never that bad to start a magazine at the center page.

Jimmy was silent.

Petrusian smiled.

The sun’s rays was putting off an intolerable amount of glare on the surfaces of the truck.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“W-what?” I stammered.

“You heard me right, newbie. Better stuff lies yonder.”

Cryptic. That is all I can see from him.

I looked at the rear-view mirror. Jimmy was listless. What Petrusian had just said hardly illicit-ed a response from him. Perhaps he had missed it.

As the truck roared on, uncertainty grew.

[comm]

wtf, truck driver this kind of english ??

[illustrious]

Easily discernible... definitely copied stuff.

[Bagun]

Night fell quick enough.

Not even halfway through 2 hours journey when one can see, and almost feel it.

It should be obvious.

We started our journey a couple of hours after noon.

The air crept on to us, colder and colder as the hour ticks by.

We stopped to take a piss somewhere after Taviu, and already I couldn’t see that much.

The way the after-glimmers of the sun’s leftover rays streaked past the clouds and the air and dark, creating a grayed out effect that disorient the senses.

There weren’t any street lamps for miles and miles ahead and back of us.

The truck’s headlight flared.

After I drenched a nearby under-bush with a warm golden shower courtesy of my aching bladders, I walked back to the truck.

I opened the side tank of the trunk and siphoned out some water. Luckily enough, it was warm.

With it, I washed my hands and face.

It was still.

Jimmy and Petrusian went opposite ways to do their business.

I looked around.

Nothing to see.

And never have I felt so alone.

Even during the day, one can hardly see anyone else in these parts. Every single house in areas like these tend to be secluded, hidden out of the cursory glances of the common folk.

The unrestrained greenery ran rampant.

The wind blew.

The door on the other side of the truck slammed. Jimmy’s back.

I strained up for a look.

He didn’t speak much. Morose.

“The fickle night tempts us with the want for warmth, reminding warm blooded creatures small and big that they weren’t meant to go about without a bit of company.”

Petrusian’s words jolted me like ice.

“No shit...”

Petrusian smiled.

“The night bores, and as such, I see no reason why our little first timer here should not spend the night with a special female friend or two.”

“No way, you mean that there’s a whorehouse up ahead?”

“Of sorts.”

I looked up ahead, squinted my eyes. Can’t see no nothing.

The said establishment must’ve been farther still.

[Clark]

Wtf! Just enjoy it lah.

[Bagun]

Originally Posted by comm

wtf, truck driver this kind of english ??

The answer is simple, it's academic inflation.

For now I can't decide, whether to:

a) plod along and make this into a standard affair, or

b) go all out and break a couple of long standing narrative conventions.

I'd like to hear what you folks think.