This is the opening to a pulp piece I have been working on:
It was prattle about pollution reports and the ozone layer disappearing, plus nuclear threats and drug use among teens. Some chick next to her wondered “how we ever made it to the year 2027.” Max didn’t know either, but one thing he did know was that the candy apple red metal felt good on his body.
“Max?” a woman’s voice called out behind him.
Max turned and looked at the woman naked on the bed. She was short, dark haired, and voluptuous. She propped herself up her elbow and gave him a look like she was lost in a mall.
Where the hell did she come from? Max thought. Oh. Oh that’s right.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” she asked.
Max put out his smoke.
“To get egg rolls,” he said.
With that he snapped the faceplate down and jumped out the second floor window. Wings popped out from his back. The jets ignited soon thereafter and Max Cicero spat up into the night sky like a fiery sperm ejaculated from Zeus himself. In seconds he was too high to notice that the motel was set ablaze by his jetwash.
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