Highway to Hell

Highway to Hell§0 §0 §0 §0 By§0 §0 SpaceVolcano§0 §0 §0 §0 §0 §0 §0 §0 §0 §0 *sips*

Midmorning he awakens slowly, not knowing much about himself at this early hour. The 1980's Panasonic §0 §0Accuset II showing a faded led 7:18 AM. The alarm just went off tuning into the local classic rock station. He notices the room is starting to warm from

the Florida sun baking in through the windows. He knows he must get up before the temperature becomes uncomfortable. Reaching for his glasses his hand brushes a near empty energy drink can. He swings his legs slowly over the edge, feeling every muscle

strech with a tinge. Its a reminder of the work he does everyday to maintain a comfortable life. He shuffles to the fridge and grabs a familar white and blue can, then shuffles to the shower. The warm steam and the ice cold carbonated drink provides a

brisk and energetic§0 §0contrast. Now the day can start. After finding the tennis shoes near the door he looks over his domain from the porch. The smell of fresh cut grass and well manicured roses, rise to his nose mingling with a light fruitness from the

canned beverage in his hand. It'll be another day like those prior, stable, strucred and completed with a true happiness few have obtained. He walks back into his comfortable cabin and goes though a checklist similar to a pilots to fire up the stereo.

Power-ON, Speakers-A through to B through to A/B. Loudness-ON,§0 §0Input-3 Clicks to Tape. Volume-Smooth wieghted roll up to 6. §0 §0The silver faced amplifer flickers on with a warm glow. The speakers emit a slight pop at the taste of power. The VU meters§0 §0start

swinging to the beat. Dire Straights Sultans of Swings begins to rip through the room; Louder, crisper, and more powefully than any modern system could ever hope to peak at. He thinks to himself they sure dont make them like this anymore. His daily yard

work chores are completed with the music blasting forth from the open windows and a smile slides over his face. He wonders why the young renters next door arent awake, and why their yard looks like something from Serbia.

Coming in for lunch and to soak in the coolness of the Air condionting he cracks open another can of ice cold refreshment. The tinge of the carbination quenching and replacing any sweat lost. He sits down in his chair not really thinking, yet his mind

glances on the subjects of the past. The good old days, the joys of the country, the sex drive of the women, and the thrill of the open road. He decides its time for a blast back tonight. Its a drive to the city, but he'll make it. He finds some clothes

in the back of his closet thatll do nicely. He dons his gold chain and shades, staring at his refelction, he knows he's the king of the night, and the world is waiting for his arrival. He locks his door grabing the solid steel keys from the hook next to

the doorway. He goes down the steps and opens the garage under the cabin. He enters the dark cool space, smelling a touch of two-stroke engine, sawdust, and fertilizer. He grabs the corner of a faded canvas cover, and grabs it off with a solid yet caring

yank. The Mirror finished black allows him to see his own grin. The dust from the canvas slides past the freshly waxed paint not even thinking to stick to his ride. His hand settles onto the metal handle and pops the door open with a firm mechanical feel.

He lowers himself into the glove like black leather bucket seats. He inserts his key and turns it one notch watching the gauges confirm the battery has the power to awaken the horses under the hood. As the key twists further the roar of Torque, cams, and

cherry-bombed exhaust fills his ears. Taking the last sip from his latest can he tosses it out the window into the garage trashcan where its settles with the others like it. He flips the radio over to the classic rock station, his eyes come alive

behind his sunglasses. The clutch goes in, the shift knobs notches back into first and with a practiced motion, the black beauty rolls from its stable. The roar increases, the tires stuggling to maintain their hold on the earthly plane. He knows the

renters next door can only see the 69CHRGR and the dust, yet they hear the sonic symphony of 400 American Cubic Inches and AC/DC's Highway to Hell fading into the setting sun.