Promo: Cross Country

[Guest Horse hockey!]

Sean Davis sits behind the wheel of his sleek, black 2005 Escalade XLT. Past him, out the window, the green-starting-to-turn-fall-colored hills of Georgia fly by at 75 miles per hour. The hum of the engine drones in the background, as Sean drives without the radio on. He has for the past few hours or so. Davis glances up into the rear view mirror, and then signals a lane change. After transitioning into the left-most lane of I-75, Sean rests his left elbow on the door panel, propping his chin in his hand as his Cadillac eases by a convoy of 18-wheelers cruising in the middle lane.

 

I lost it. Again. Toxx must be disappointed. And Spike, and Marcus. Fuck, I'm disappointed. Why can't I hold onto it?

 

Sean's train of thought is interrupted as he signals another lane change and merges back into the center lane. A cherry red Camero flies by, the driver revving up his V8 as he passes Davis. Sean just shakes his head.

 

I can't believe the SWF scheduled their next show in Florida. From California to Florida. What kind of bullshit is that? I definitely would have liked a longer stay on the West Coast. Could have lived without returning to Florida. Man, things are going to get ugly.

 

A sigh. Sean checks his mirrors.

 

Maybe I should skip the show. I'm not booked. Spike and Toxx don't need me. I am so ready to tear Carnage a new asshole for defacing the Cyclone Driver. He was supposed to stay down for the count, but the bitch changed the plan. He fucking kicked out.

 

The leather steering wheel squeaks as Sean's fingers tighten around it. His knuckles are white. He checks the rear view mirror and catches a glimpse of himself. The look on Davis's face is one of rage and anger. His eyes are glassy and his lips thin. He focuses back onto the road.

 

But I don't need the Hardcore belt to prove that I'm better than him, or anyone else. It doesn't take gold. It's all about attitude. That's the one thing that Coach Bowden never stopped telling us.

 

Sean's grasp on the wheel has eased. A Georgia state trooper zooms by, lights flashing. Davis can't help but chuckle at the thought of that guy in the Camero getting pulled over.

 

I wonder where I'd be if it hadn't happened. I'd be playing for the Bucs, maybe the Falcons. Sure, maybe not the best teams, but the fans would have someone to cheer for when I came onto the field. I had a promising future coming out of FSU.. what the fuck happened? Some guy gets beat up at a frat party, someone with a thing for me tells the cops I did it.. man, I wish I hadn't been so drunk I couldn't remember. It'd been the only thing I thought about in prison. Finally, it all stopped when I got to the SWF. Nobody really knows. They don't hold it above my head. It's not something I'm constantly reminded of. But now we're headed into Florida. Down there it was front page news. They all know my name there. And they all still look at me with those knowing eyes. They think they know, dammit!

 

"BUT I DIDN'T DO IT!" Davis shouts! He shakes the steering wheel, despite it being firmly locked in the dashboard. His knuckles are once again gripped tightly around the leather wheel. His teeth are clenched and a low moan builds up in his chest.

 

"I.. " Sean pauses and glances around, reassuring himself that he hasn't missed his exit with his inner musings. "Fuck. I don't know if I can do this.. "

 

WELCOME TO FLORIDA!

THE SUNSHINE STATE!

WELCOME CENTER AND REST AREA

EXIT 2 MILES

[Guest Horse hockey!]

u suck

 

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