I was not far from home. The Hammer and I were on our way to the mountains. In front of us the Cadillac's motor purred like a sick cat. I needed a beer in the worst possible way and I would have one just as soon as I unlatched the trunk and reached into the Coleman at our destination. It was 8:30 in the morning. It was going to be a day so good a politician with a weakness for $4,000 whores could not fuck it up.
That was when the motorhead, eyes popping out of his skull like a homemade bomb had gone off accidently behind them, ran off the sidewalk full speed straight for my car. I did not even slow down. Fucking motorheads. If I had slowed down I would have hit him for sure.
It is like we used to say down on the river, "If they don't give a fuck, we don't give a fuck."
You hear traffic reporters sometimes mention a stray dog is running along the road disturbing the flow of the rats racing to work. But you never hear reports of motorheads running out into traffic. I guess crazy motorheads running unexpectedly on to the road is not even noteworthy in this Dope City.