Flash Literature, Poetry, Art and Photography!


The Beer Run




Bob Page



Trapped inside a sea of parked running cars. On some freeway in a large city somewhere sits an old boxy beast that spews burned oil fumes and lots of carbon monoxide. The exhaust smells like the rest of the city. In the beast sits a mid aged balding wreck. His big gut droops over his crotch and rests on his thighs. He has a thick mustache and hasn’t shaved in what appears to be weeks. Dried bits of yellow crust cling to the hairs on his upper lip while translucent fluid runs from his nose to form more crust.


He wears a dirty cotton undershirt that is stained with whiskey, beer and grease from assorted fast food snacks. The man moves his hips from left to right. Smashing himself into the seat trying to clear the shit berries that have gathered and itch. They smear and rub off onto the inside of his jeans as he “free balls it”.



The man keeps flailing his arms and shaking his fist at the other parked cars. Yelling and screaming expletives into the smoky air. Ashes fall from his cigar  and burn new holes in his T shirt.  He takes a swig of cheap whiskey that’s bottled in plastic. Inside we can hear the man's slurred demands:


I want a sharp bayonet, lots of ammo and heaps of meat before my sights god damn it! I am only human, competition is in my blood! Violence is how I get things done. Done for good. I am a beast with wanton fangs! I want to stomp out the anti ambitious journeys of those around me with big heavy boots. I am an animal…no better yet…I am a manimal and I serve myself as Job served God! Out of my way! I am my own god! Out of my way! I’m God and I damn you. You wretched little bottom feeders…OUT OF MY WAY!!!


He honks his horn again and again.


Can’t those around me recognize my sovereignty? They don’t? They don’t see it! They don’t see my rights. My right of way! They’re blind. They’re all blind. They must be taught, they must be taught to see. THEY MUST LEARN TO SEE!!!


The man honks, revs his engine and drops the clutch… smoking his tires while staying nearly parked.


They must discern  that bright, burning ball of energy behind them is me. They must learn to get out of my way…or die. GET OUT OF MY WAY!!! Get out of  my way…please…pleeeease…get out of my way…


The man with all his pleading, cursing and angst still remains stuck in traffic. For all his rush. For all of his drama. For all his boiling blood. He remains in traffic. All he wants is some more beer. That is all. “Just a few more drops. A sixer is not enough..."


This scene is repeated over and over throughout the cities of our world. Impatient people in cars. Stuck and angry for whatever reason. Some reasons are small, some reasons are big….and some are just on beer runs.


BOB PAGE shares...

BOB PAGE just turned thirty. This piece is his first story published online. He enjoys being out of jail and writing and plans on following the rules from now on. (He was recently released from Los Angeles County Mens’ Central Jail on a misdemeanor for  misbehaving.) Having lost his driving privileges for the next two years, BOB is going to take up bicycling under the pretext of "saving the environment." 


BOB says he is a high school drop out with a G.E.D who is pursuing an Associates in Communications degree. He plans on writing more fiction.




“I was motivated by my own impatience with those I’m forced to share the road with.” 

The author can be reached here: