mutagen

I have twenty minutes. Nothing happens slowly anymore. I pull on my crash helmet, tighten the straps on my knee pads and get into my brown car. They still don't have ignition buttons, so I use the key. I think I scraped the two-tone blue minivan as I squeezed onto the street. It's all downhill now, winding around the mountain to the bottom, ducking rotted tree branches and weaving past cats. Thank goodness for the freshly paved ashphalt road. I use the emergency break. The drive-thru doesn't take debit cards. I wait in the car line five whole minutes. The car in front of me can't delay and drives off through the hedges with bouncing lurches. Looking up through my sunroof, I see a bat fly above me, lit by the McDonald's lights. I could have been a bat. I have my orange drink and quarter pounder, so it's back up the mountain. I sail past the trees and make engine noises with my lips in between bites and sips. I parallel park with one minute to spare. I run laps around the car to use up the extra seconds.

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Found a used copy of "It's Like This Cat" (*sigh*) at a used bookstore on my birthday. It's now resting comfortably at home. Still looking for the "The Contender" by Robert L.