King Dick Lucca 2

Quick quasi-driver of a fictitious freight truck puts a trick sweaty foot to the pedal of a gunned and ready rust belt betty. “This shit is fast. This be what they want me to bring ’em.” He din’t know words cuz he din’t read much. “This shit is louder than the incident!”

King Dick Lucca had flappy lips and a diminished chin. He has always been rotund and moved into vehicles with a jerky weighted emphasis. He had developed a series of video diatribes railing against the lack of Fun Rigs on the interstates. Many believe his Fun Rigs to be the antithesis of good clean social fun and that Dick was setting out to deify himself among the all-stars. The old Mazda included.

“Crank that shit around again!” He shouts. King Dick Lucca tosses a foil mess of beans and cheese from the Kong Cab comfort of a big ass rig. “Crank it mother trucker!” Dick takes the last of a healthy swallowing of a road trip burro. He guns that rig quick and dirt counters his trajectory, flowing in a gravel stream behind. “Pop that Shit!” His mind finds its high. Big hat man with a loaded plan.

King Dick Lucca put his weight and elbows to his thighs. His toes helped his calves lift both heels high and tense. Blood slowed and he felt tingling in his pinkies and feet. Sitting there, he took labored breaths because of his fat. His mind was lean and mean because nobody in a story he ever saw ever fell in love with a fat fuck like him. “Dey don’t mess wif me no mo’.” He scribbled on the baked door panel of his gutted rig hauling his big invention. Dick was becoming aware of something more important than his fragile quest for acceptance. He was about to nurture his latent god complex.

No cause to make anyone suffer evil, Dick played the numbers to dissolve his emotions becoming impartial and rational. It is written that a female must become male and many believe that god can see through the eyes of man and man can see a man as god but Dick never read that nor heard that. That’s what happens when no one notices, when an animal is thinking.

Spilling some coffee, “This coffee don’t clean up but its hot and I gotta go.”


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