Updated: Mar 4, 2020
Jagged and rusted shrapnel flew off the blade, as it continued to leave a slow moving cleavage between one side of the material that has been connected together at a cellular level since the 1974. The age was important in the forefront of my overly emotional sawman’s mind because he always had a flair for classics, Cars, bikes, firearms, he believed firmly that cool shit stopped being made after the cold war, to a point, I could agree with him, but I could not buy into the fact that just because “Els” was made in a different generation that its any more or less of a tragedy that we were dismantling her with power tools. Truthfully, I didn’t feel anything at the time and, when it comes to that job, I still don’t, but I remembers the tears running slowly down my tech’s cheeks and splashing onto the rusty ground creating tiny puddles of metallic waste. Even with enough steel wool and plastic wrap twisted around the saw, this was taking too long and was too loud, doing this kind of work inside a residential location while people are sleeping is literally the worst case scenario.
Let me qualify that, it’s the worst out of 3 possible scenarios, the first obvious scenario is that the authorities will catch us dead to rights, red handed, by the short and curlies and we both take a long somber ride to the station, knowing that the last “slap on the wrist” of our lives happened when the handcuffs clicked on them. The previous scenario is unlikely only because based on the complexity of the situation, and the high profile nature of our employer, there’s no way we’d make it to jail anyway unless its strapped to an ambulance gurney full of bullet holes. I have always been a fan of target shooting but do not like carrying that sort of machinery to such a job, because the ante is immediately upped, and though I Love making my heart race, the adrenaline makes it hard to hear and I need to keep my ear to the door to listen for movement. The real scene which I would like to avoid plays out in a way which ends in me still reaching in my pockets and finding broken cigarettes and lint, and I need money so bad that I had to color aspirins blue and sell them as “Percocet’s” just to get the supplies to pull this off. But doesn’t everyone, I would be willing to bet that no one in history has made so much money and still remained in chronic poverty, I’ve never held on to a Benjamin or 10 for longer than an hour. Used to save…. I think.
The saw is making a high pitched squealing sound that highlights the fact that its over heating, The loud “CLANG” that followed registered falsely in my mind in the train of thought “fuck the blade broke, we’re toast” thank whatever God was on shift that I was wrong. That sound was this dirty little slut from ’74, completing splitting down the side, church bells couldn’t have sounded more pure or lovely, we were in.
“Switch me’” I tried to say without yelling
“deal” he said as he took the goggles and gloves off, removed a double action smith and Wesson from his waste aiming at the door.
This rockabilly tweaker rip-off's solution to everything is aiming tools at his demons, whether it be a gun at a door, a needle at his arm, or a steel wool wrapped reciprocating saw at a “1974 Elsafe Mark III”. He was a tool from a different age, addicted to using tools from another age to dismantle tools from another age. Just as I cant stop putting another page on another page, that was the only thing we had in common, besides the obviously financial difficulties and drug enthusiasm.
“What was in the safe?” you might ask, and maybe one day I may show you, but for the sake of statutes of limitations Ill leave it simple and vague. Inside this Safe was Danger.
“destructive” “ descriptive” “ distributive” “ dissident”
Travis muffhugging Ryan