"I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth." - Umberto Eco

I held my hand up towards my friends with my fourth and fifth fingers pointing up in a gesture we call "throwing the 'V'" as I walked towards my car.  There were about 15 of them remaining who were attempting to come to a consensus on the rest of the evening's plans in front of the bowling alley.  I seemed to be the only one who was opting to go home instead of piling into the limo to continue the debauchery at House Nightclub or the Pink Pony.  I ignored the cries of "PUSSY!" being launched at me and climbed into my car.

I cracked both windows and backed out of my parking space.  Mark Strube's "Vegas 2.0" CD was in the deck and I cranked the volume and kicked on the subs.  A clean breakbeat leaped out of the speakers and started vibrating my rearview mirror.  As I took a left onto the I-285 Access Road and headed towards the Chamblee Dunwoody onramp, a fat slap-bass riff joined the breakbeat and I began to nod my head in time. 

I've got a comfortable buzz from the considerable number of kamikazes consumed while bowling.  I'm still not sure that a family entertainment establishment is the best place to get my group of friends liquored up.  I remember pushing C-Rock on the ball cart while spilling my Cape Cod down her back.  We should have been thrown out.  I remember a constant stream of profanity, rude gestures and the usual sexually charged behavior.  We should have been thrown out.  I remember bowling with my sunglasses on and accusing everyone of cheating and bad taste as loud as I could over the steady mix of 80's hip-hop and electro pouring out of the sound system.  We should have been thrown out.  I remember the group spending well over $500 on liquor, pizza and bad shoes.  We should have left on our own accord.  However, we did like we usually do and stayed until they had to chase us out.

From my stereo, a grungy synth guitar joins the rhythm.  It immediately makes the hair on my arms stand on end.  I turn it up.  The feeling the dirty groove brings out in me is somewhere between rage and the feeling you get from a deep, wet, ecstacy induced kiss.  This is good.  I pull a menthol out of my pack and light it.

My car leaps forward as I hit the accelerator and merge onto 285.  I floor it and quickly pass the speed limit.

Then I hear her voice join in.  Pure, clean and undistorted yet painted on the insane canvas created by the dissonance of the music.  It's beautiful and free.  I want to float away with her voice...  But the closest I can come is the gas pedal.

Let's get it OOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

I couldn't agree more, sugar.  Sing it to me.

I got to get down!

Let's do this.  90 MPH and the other cars are starting to merge out of the inside lane ahead of me.  Faster.

Let's get it OOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

I pull my sunglasses down from the top of my head and over my eyes. I don't bother to buckle up.  The music and vodka are pushing me.  If it's my time to die, then so be it.  This feeling is worth it.  I push the car over 100.

I got to get down!

Now we're cooking with heat.  As I reach the 285 / I-75 interchange, the road shrinks to three lanes.  There are more cars ahead but I don't want to let off.  I don't want to back down.  I keep accelerating towards them.  My siren's voice is swirling around me inside my car.

Let's get it... Let's get it... Let's get it OOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

The snare is accelerating as well on a collision course with the break.  This song just keeps getting more intense.  What a great fucking track.  It's perfect for where I'm at in my life right now.  It's reckless and yet oddly comforting.  The kick drum is vibrating everything in the car and I turn it up some more.

The cars ahead are racing towards me.  I look at the speedometer. 115 MPH and my foot is still trying to squeeze more out of the engine.

Let's get it OOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

When I see the trouble ahead, things seem to shift into slow motion.  There are three semis in the lane on my right.  On my left, there is no median, just a concrete barrier taller than my car and barely 2 feet outside my window.  The first two semis throw their blinkers on and begin to merge into my lane.  I hit the brakes, but at this speed it just makes the car feel a little out of control and I'm obviously not going to drop speed in time to avoid smashing into one of the trucks.

I got to... I got to... I got to... GET DOWN!!!

The break has reached a fever pitch.  The song has me on the verge of violence.  I feel myself letting go as I give into the resolve that this is my final curtain call.  And what a sweet way to end this story.  A fiery crash at 1am early on a Monday morning in the city that I love.  My friends are going to hail me as a fucking lunatic and every Jager Bomb consumed by them is going to start with a little being spilled on the floor in memory of the crazy bastard who killed himself in a haze of booze and aggressive techno.

I hit the accelerator again and aim at the ever narrowing gap between the first truck and the concrete wall.  I blow past the second truck easily but the open space that the first one is allowing me looks way too small and is shrinking even as I hurtle towards it in 2500 pounds of steel and adrenaline.  I try to hug the concrete as my knuckles turn white from their death grip on the steering wheel.  I can feel sweat popping out of my forehead despite the cold February air blasting through the cracked windows.

Let's get it... Let's get it... Let's get it OOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

Right before I hit the gap, my car gets too close to the barrier and with a bright spark and a thunderous crash, my driver's side mirror folds and slams into my window.  The noise suprises me but I don't have time to react.  Judgement time is upon me.  I'm either James Dean or Mario Andretti.  Let's see which, you fucking pussy.

I got to... I got to... I got to... GET DOWN!!!

It's over in the blink of an eye.  With scant inches to spare, the 240SX sneaks thru the gap and is accelerating into open road.  At first, the scream suprised me...  Until I realized it was my own.  A mix of terror, victory and joy rips itself out of my vocal chords, drowning out even the beautiful disaster that is the theme song for my near death.

The feeling that washed over me was like none I have experienced in quite a while.  THIS is how one should FEEL.  This is what being alive is all about.  Fuck the boredom of a mundane job.  Fuck the self-esteem issues always caused by another failed relationship and the nagging voice that accuses you.  Fuck stress.  Fuck worry.  Fuck the fear that keeps us half-awake as we stumble through life.  Life is lived on the thin line between adventure and outright lunacy.  This is an epiphany that I've been needing for months.  This is the metallic taste of life and blood that reminds you that you're only here for a brief instant...  Oh, and I apparantly bit the inside of my cheek.

As I begin to get my breathing and heart rate under control, I feel an unexpected sensation.  My lap is cold and soaking wet.  FUCK!  Did I fucking piss myself?  I look down...

I got to... I got to... I got to... GET DOWN!!!

Between my thighs is the crushed remains of a 20oz Pepsi in a paper cup that I purchased with my last kamikaze shot right before walking out of the bowling alley.  It has spilled it's frigid contents all over my jeans.  I can't help but laugh.

$2.00 and a frozen cock are a small price to pay to remember who you really are.