Pool_1

flew sideways out of the veering truck and tail long into the street with Marcus flat on his ass straddling double lines of a highway - to nowhere. Nowhere for him, unhorsed. Yet his steeds, a truck, full fed of ambrosia to violent energy, surged ahead, full on, unattended, yet guided by the invisible hand of Nemesis, devouring the distance, toward the far away drift in the road, toward the gas station, at the gas pumps of the station guarding the bend in the way, right straight at the gas pumps. Gas pumps! Scrambling in disbelief with gravel stuck to his ass, in stumbling pursuit headlong over his ejected driver seat he screamed, "JESUS! MY ICE CREAM!" as the truck ignored him and kept on going. Screams of "ICE CREAM and RUM BANANA" caught the many ears inside the Piper building, more than delirious references to celestial figures. They emerged shouting as well, "GAS PUMPS! STOP! DON'T CHASE THE TRUCK..." Chasing the truck was not a good idea. "THE FUCKER MIGHT BLOW!" one bellowed with difficulty caused by his spasmodic hysterical laughing. Whoa. Good God! The gas pumps WERE straight away in the trajectory of the mischievous vehicle. That stopped the wood-be Sloan right in his tracks as Apollo's chariot continued its course and his runaway plummeted toward doom, toward the gas station, onto its pavement, bearing ever more down on the pumps, and,... and...and... nothing. No thunder. No hurled lightening bolt from an omnipotent Jupiter. Nothing. Just frozen stillness as it came to rest. Stopped, miraculously, pressing, with a kiss, the nearest pump, as it seemed from here, anyway.