by Joseph Grant

What awoke me was the chugging and spurting of the engine, it must have been running all night, now it was gasping on all cylinders. It must have been one hell of a night, I thought, looking in the rear view drunken hindsight when I spotted the police car, empty and parked behind me. A groan comes from the back seat and it is there that I see the blood of the stripper and she is lying there, her eyes vacant, but I cannot tell if she is still high or in pain from the bullet wound I spot as she holds the gun in her outstretched hand, but at least she is still breathing. It scares the shit out of me, but not so much as the sight of the officer shot dead on the road next to me and I vaguely remember the stupid girl shooting at him and me telling her not to before everything went black. It is then that I feel the back of my head and the dull, throbbing pain and the blood encrusted in my hair and think how I must have been grazed by the stupid bitch shooting in the dark. But what really scares the shit out of me most, as I sit there with a wounded stripper, a dead cop and no gas to get the hell out of there even if I wanted to, is the sight of the police car, lights flashing, tearing down the road towards me.


Joseph Grant, whose full catalog is here, is a 6S All-Star. Originally from New York City, he currently resides in Los Angeles.