The Experiment: Part Two

A slow creep of traffic met them as soon as they merged on to Route 79.  The shoulder of the highway was coned off.  Bicyclists in racing gear with numbers safety pinned to their backs wheeled through the desert past them as they crept along.  Billy reached into the bag at his feet in the passenger seat and passed out some bottles of Shiner bock. 

“I’m gonna miss the drive-thru liquor store when I die.  I’m gonna miss cold roadies like these.”

            “What the hell is a bicycle race doing on this highway?” Said Rich as he pulled on his Shiner and rode the brake with the hiccupping traffic.  “This is gonna totally fuck up the schedule.”

            “The schedule is to get fucked up… eh, what the FUCK did you do back here?”  Dave had opened up his tackle box on the rear passenger seat next to him and struggled to keep the camping supplies from belching out of the back storage on to his joint buildings.  “We’re going to Show Low to party with Billy, not earn a fucking goddamn merit badge, Ropkins.”

            “Gotta set up camp to party," said Rich.  “Maybe it’s some kind of triathlon and they’ll stop riding bikes and start running off into the desert.”  Rich finished his beer, distracted from the rolling slowdown by flipping through a travel bag of compact discs.  “There’s cold cans of Shaefer somewhere back there, wanna get me one?”

            “Damnit Fabbie, SHIT!” Dave tossed a spent box of rolling paper forward onto the console between the passenger seats, diving back into the tackle box.  “FUCK, her mom’s gotta get a grip on that bitch.

            “Fabiola got into your stash again?” said Billy turning away from the cyclists and surveying Dave’s progress.  “No offense man, but she’s one top shelf piece of ass.  All of the best parts of the Irwin DNA busted through that barrio rubber the night you and Christine lit the fuse on Fabbie.  Your kid is a thirteen year old, slut drug addict psycho!”  Billy spun around, stuck his thumb in the neck of his Shiner bock, shook it up, and pointed it out the window. 

            “FUCK YOU, HEALTH FANATICS!  PEDAL TILL YOUR HEART POPS!  YOUR DEAD WIFE IS SUCKING MY GHOST DICK AT THE FINISH LINE!”