Max is NOW!

- excerpts from new story concept -

He revved the engine twice more, pumping fuel through the heart of the beast, trying not to flood her too much. Motorcycles weren’t meant to stand still, and neither was Fix. Three years without running out of road, in one manner or another, so the thought of stopping now was little more than a joke. The Guzzi 750 straddled between his legs roared into the intersection and died with a whimper in less than thirty feet. Fix sank a little on the back of his bike, disappointed more than embarrased. He dismounted, and pushed her to the edge of the curb at Broadway and Alder///
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WRONG, ALL WRONG!–
Fix isn’t a fucking cowboy, he’s no god damn hero. We need to go backwards in this stupid little story. Reverse the narrative, now! C’mon, this kid is just some rich piece of trash, living in the most privaledged time and the most privaledged place in the world. Let’s go back. Talk about his father, eh? Let’s talk about the older, more rancid piece of trash. That man, Fix’s father Roman, he would have been face-down in the gutter from the beginning. Of course, he suffered from such creative despotism, and no one in the world with such moral deficiency could ever suffer the gutter or poverty. So yea, go back a few years, let’s talk about Roman and the life he made of things.
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“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?!” Roman stared down the back of Fix’s head. “If your mother were alive, she’d have nuetered you herself!…Is that what you want Fix?!”
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Yea, his mom’s dead. Been dead since he was 14. Don’t pity him. Losing her, does’t make him a hero. It makes him a guy with a dead mother. There’s lots of them. And most of them aren’t heros.
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“How about after they gut that little cunt you knocked-up you go get your own balls cinched off for good measure. God forbid I have to support your progeny as well as you…” Roman stomped to the window and looked over the smoggy city skyline. “Are you even fucking listening to ME?!?!”
Fix tilted his head slightly, his face’s profile peaking from behind his back to Roman. “If you were only so creative twenty years ago.”
“You fucking baby, how about I give you an extra two hundred. You can go buy a few bullets and be the man you always threaten you are?!…huh?” Roman changed his tone like he was talking to a new-born, “Is that what we’re waiting for wittle man? Do yew want to end it awl?” He walked around to Fix’s front-side, staring him down like a mis-behaving dog. “Grow the fuck up, you little child!”