Burn Down The Night Read Online Free PDF

clutch and depress the accelerator smoothly. We move
rapidly without jerking. Ah, success!
    Unfortunately the
car is in reverse and we shoot back through the intersection. Amazing! Ah, failure! We pass
through the intersection and go beyond it. With the speed of an ice age, I realize my mistake and
go for the brake. I just ran a red light going backwards.
    Morrison is
drinking wine when I slam on the brakes, me practically standing up on the brakes I hit them so
hard.
    Wine splashes all
over Morrison's face and down his shirt.
    "Shit!" Morrison's
wiping off his face and shirt. "What the hell are you doing! I got this bear piss all over
me!"
    "Pixies and camel
drivers always drive backwards," I say by way of explanation.
    "You're no pixie,"
says Morrison, wiping wine off of his neck. "You're a frigging caddy at a miniature golf
course!"
    I look in the
rearview mirror and see a car behind us come to a tire-burning stop, turned completely sideways.
Looks like somebody slammed on their brakes trying not to hit us and went into a nasty skid.
Makes you wish other people could be more careful on the highway, doesn't it?
    "You're really
full of shit, you know that?" says Morrison.
    I notice that the
car is stalled again. Forgot to clutch it when I stood up on the brakes.
    "You know
something, you're probably right," I agree, beginning the weary routine of starting the car
again. One thing I can say for this car: no trouble getting it cranked up.
    I pull up to the
light. The light turns green and I shift, really concentrating. Please let me get it right, I
tell myself, but I got my hand on the turn signal indicator instead of the gear shift lever and
it snaps off in my hand. Frigging cars anyway!
    The car stalls
again, bigger than shit, edged over a lit­tle bit into the intersection.
    Somebody behind me
honks as the light glows a maddening green. Getting through this intersection is becoming like
sex for the first time.
    "Enjoying the
view?" I ask.
    "All right," says
Morrison, tapping his fingers against the wine bottle to some music only he hears.
    Morrison looks out
the back window, then turns and looks out the front window. Has a puzzled look on his
face.
    "Hey, man, isn't
this the same frigging intersection? What the fuck you doing? Making an epic?"
    That pisses me
off. The guy behind me with the horn that won't quit has already got me pissed. Now I'm really
pissed. "Why don't you fucking drive then? I'm doing the best I can."
    "Show me your
worst and I'll sell tickets. You drive like a virgin on roller skates."
    "Just for that,
I'm gonna start driving with my eyes open from now on. I'm better at head-on collisions when I
can see what I'm aiming at."
    I get back to
concentrating on my car routine. Get­ting it started again, getting it in gear, waiting for the
light. This time, goddamn it, I'll get it right!
    "Turn around! Turn
around!" Morrison has his head out the car window, waving the wine bottle like Cus­ter's personal
bugle at the battle of Little Big Horn.
    I turn around in
my seat, figuring the back of the car is on fire or maybe fifty thousand angry drivers are coming
up on us on foot with mayhem in mind. I don't see a fire and, looking out the back window I don't
see a lynch mob or room service or what have you. Whatever is behind us stays a mystery to me. I
can't see doodly squat.
    "Turn this monster
around! Pull a U turn. Now!" urges Morrison, in a fever.
    "What for?" I want
to know. "Christ! I can't make no goddamn U turns! I can't even get through this frig­ging
intersection, for chrissakes! Now you want me to make a U turn?" I threw my hands in the air.
"Jesus, you got a lot of balls, asking me to—"
    "C'mon, turn it
around. Get this iron mother turned, man! There's some matches, I know it, and the girl with the
graveyard heart. Poon from the moon!" Morrison is suffering from mental sunspots. Or maybe just
suffering.
    I shake my head.
"No way, man. We're gonna