Blood, Guns and Whores

~An
All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog

Written and Illustrated by W.Ross Ayers

An SFWC Co-Publishing Studio Production 2011 by LND, inc. All rights reserved

Blood, Guns and Whores An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog, is a coffee table novel TM made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.

W. Ross Ayers
Goto http://www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different. Or just buy the book to get the full rich experience of the illustrations, artwork, and story in the way it was meant to be experienced.

29. Ride To Work

It was starting to get really cold out. The leaves had already turned brown, orange, red and gold, crumpled up and blown away. Each day I got up in the cold darkness of my second story-corner bedroom of the old farmhouse, ate breakfast and drove the fifteen minutes to work. I took the back roads crossing the farms and harvested cornfields. All day I worked in the small wooden box of a workshop hammering on molds, polishing this or cleaning that. Being the new guy, I always got the shit work. I drove home each day at 1pm then worked till dark on the old farmhouse, painting walls, fixing windows, filling in cracks in the plaster walls from Rich or I having thrown the other into it during one of our scuffles. Thanksgiving came and passed. Winter had its hold. The snow fell. And it fell hard and deep day by day. On my way to work, I drove down Pixley Road. It was 4:40am. The darkness and cold wrapped around my car, a 1978 white four-door Omega. Not my car really. Kens car. My orange 1976 Mustang II had died earlier in the fall. The engine had blown and we towed it to the junkyard. They gave me twenty-five dollars for it. After the Mustang died, Kens parents sold me his 1978 white four-door Omega for five hundred bucks. He was pissed when he came back from his freshman year of college and found out. The heater of the Omega pumped out hot air trying to warm the frozen interior. I leaned toward the steering wheel half-awake and shivering from the cold. In the darkness the radio blared Love Removal Machine by The Cult. White snow covered the fields and road. A cold drizzling rain fell as the wipers fought to keep the windshield clear. I stopped at the stop sign on Rogers Highway. I pushed the accelerator, first gear, second gear. Then the wheels spun on the dark ice. The rear end of the car swung left. I let off the gas. Holding the steering wheel lightly in my hands I counter steered.

The rear end swung right. I counter steered. The rear end swung even further left. I counter steered. In the bright headlights I saw the snow-covered ditch in front of me with a drift-covered barbed wire fence on the far side. I knew if I counter steered again I would end up sideways, flipped in the ditch. Lets go for a ride. In my mind I tried to envision the stretch of road during the summer. Is this ditch deep or shallow? Fuck! I dont know! Please be frozen over. I tightly gripped the steering wheel, sitting up rigid bracing myself. Everything became silent. Float over it. Float over it. Float over it. The car went right over the ditch. BAM! Through the drift smashing the fence down. Snow shot up into the headlights blinding me in a white glare that covered the windshield. The car jumped and landed, jarring me into the seat. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. I felt the steering wheel vibrate as the wheels of the car bounced on the frozen rows of the harvested cornfield. The wipers flapped back and forth clearing my view. Get back on the gas. Dont stop now. If you stop now youre done and wont make it to work. The headlights sparkled off the crusty ice-covered snow on top of the field. The dark sky covered everything. The stars were bright holes in the darkness above. Get back on the road. Dont hit a fence pole. I cant see them. Theyre covered by snow. Oh well. Just go. No way to tell.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Ready Do it! I pulled hard to the right on the steering wheel. BAM! Through the drift smashing the fence down. Snow shot up into the headlights blinding me in a white glare that covered the windshield. The car jumped and landed, jarring me again into the seat. Still blinded by the snow I pulled hard to the left on the steering wheel. The wheels gripped and went forward. I made it to Press Plastics on time. The guys liked the story of my ride to work.

Blood, Guns and Whores An All American Tale of a Boy and His Dog, is a coffee table novel TM made of micro chapters and illustrations about a boy growing up in the small farming community of Blissfield, Michigan and on to adulthood in San Francisco.

W. Ross Ayers
Goto http://www.BloodGunsAndWhores.com to read all the posted chapters, check out how this is cool and different. Or just buy the book to get the full rich experience of the illustrations, artwork, and story in the way it was meant to be experienced.