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Showing posts from May, 2018

Squeezable Mustard

Marcus Williams yanked his forklift’s steering wheel to the right, ripping past cereals and breakfast snacks. Just beyond miscellaneous condiments, he floored the accelerator and escaped warehouse hell. In his mind, he heard the forklift’s engine respond with the throaty precision of European engineering. Hundred sixty, hundred seventy, hundred eighty kilometers per hour . Bianco Freight and Grocery faded from view as he changed lanes and was swept back to Bavarian Germany, July 1980. “Go, go!” He pressed harder on the BMW 5 Series’ gas pedal. “Come on,” he pleaded. “You're just tuned up. Now give me two-twenty.” The car surged ahead, wind sizzling through the vented sunroof. It was 6:30 a.m. as he shot past the Augsburg exit on Autobahn 8. Morning sun shone through the rear window. Too early for Sunday traffic, there were no tractor-trailers, no vacation campers, no families headed home from Oma and Opa’s. Just empty road. He was twenty-five again, Ranger ...