Chip keeps on driving
Nov. 7th, 2007 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bending_sickleI'm just transcribing some scribbles, and not all of them at that. I still don't know who Chip is.
He'd never liked driving. The carseats were never comfortable, the rearview mirror always just off-target, and he still got carsick. The situation was somewhat better at night, but only for a few hours before the fight against sleep in the face of glaring headlights began. So what Chip had been through the past few days was the closest to his own personal hell he could concive.
And it wasn't just the driving: it was what he was driving. 'Beat-up' wasn't enough. 'Pummbled' fit it better. The car creaked like an old house, had enough dust to make Chip wish the windshield-wippers were on the inside and, of course, it stunk of stale cigarette smoke.
That last was entirely Chip's fault. It wasn't so much that he needed the nicotine, either. He had gotten used to the motions, the rhythm of lighting a cigarette and then slowly winding it down, drag after drag, the smoke curling in his line of vision as he rested his hand on the wheel, then finally crushing it with a satisfying finality.
He'd never liked driving. The carseats were never comfortable, the rearview mirror always just off-target, and he still got carsick. The situation was somewhat better at night, but only for a few hours before the fight against sleep in the face of glaring headlights began. So what Chip had been through the past few days was the closest to his own personal hell he could concive.
And it wasn't just the driving: it was what he was driving. 'Beat-up' wasn't enough. 'Pummbled' fit it better. The car creaked like an old house, had enough dust to make Chip wish the windshield-wippers were on the inside and, of course, it stunk of stale cigarette smoke.
That last was entirely Chip's fault. It wasn't so much that he needed the nicotine, either. He had gotten used to the motions, the rhythm of lighting a cigarette and then slowly winding it down, drag after drag, the smoke curling in his line of vision as he rested his hand on the wheel, then finally crushing it with a satisfying finality.
