Up front I want to be clear that this isn’t a post about my black friend I carpool with to work everyday. If it was, it would have been titled Fatboy & Leroy. And it would have detailed our repetitive arguments over why he insists on listening to rap on the way to work when we all know he is a closet country fan. Or how he thought I was mocking the month of February because I was low riding my pants. But this is totally not about that.
The windshield wipers were performing a deceptive tease. Intermittently they would pull back the wet curtains to reveal the cruel film playing on the windshield. A state roadblock complete with special effects and more than one heavy.
The wait time until the film got underway was 11 cars long. For now, it was just a trailer playing over and over again in the headlights. Car pulls forwards, meets policeman, car and passengers get groped and fondled by policeman, car leaves feeling used.
It was a sick love story.
The driver turned the radio off. He needed to think.
10 cars long now.
A lesser man would question how he arrived in this situation. The Driver knew exactly why he was here. For Molly. She didn’t want him here, but she had morals.
The fluid curtains opened on the windshield to expose the cops playing swords with their flashlights through a vehicles backseat. They were being awfully thorough for working in a rainstorm.
9 cars long.
The Driver glanced in his rear-view mirror. The character looking back was not familiar. It also had a long, weeping cut on its right cheek. The Driver reached up and felt the blood gelling on his dark stubble. There was no way to hide this from a cop. He wiped his finger on the passenger seat, leaving a trail of dark evidence.
The movie opens with some dude filming homeless people asking them why they love to dance. Not one of them admits that it is because staying in school was way to hard.
Oh good, Moose made it back. And now his parents are dropping him off at college. With his girlfriend. His girlfriend, by the way, was the only white little girl in Missy Elliot’s videos that could dance. And Moose’s nose hasn’t stopped growing. That kid is Jewish. Is that racist?
For some reason Moose is dancing with a white kid who looks Asian.
Oh crap, he is Asian. my bad.
Now Moose is popping bubbles in this dance and releasing balloons to out dance the karate kid. I think I am about to release my man card because I was cheering for Moose to win.
Moose left his parents, girlfriend and backpack to go to an abandoned warehouse full of homeless kids that think dancing is an art form worthy of a high paying job. The mystery ring leader admits to collecting discarded dancers from under passes trying to assemble the ultimate dance crew. Every one is dressed liked Jem outrageously threw up on all of them.
Directly in front of him lay 90 degrees of escape routes. Of the 90 degrees, only 1% of that space was occupied. He could jump, walk, skip, hell he could even trip and fall to safety. But it wasn’t worth the risk. He was sure that he hadn’t been spotted yet. But he had to move. He slowly started to lift his left leg – and the damn thing turned toward him!
Every hair on his body politely stood up and made for the exit. It had to be at least 8 feet wide. The hell was it doing?
It stopped mid way on it’s collision course with him. Paused like a cobra about to strike. It’s eyes taking in every possible outcome and preparing a diabolical reaction for each.
His breath was caught in a traffic jam somewhere between his lungs and Adams Apple. This was a 30 car pile up; his breath wasn’t going to make it out any time soon. His breath called his wife, told her and the kids to eat without him.
How long had he been cornered? 6, 7 hours? He checked his watch. It had been 20 seconds.