Fallout (Crank 3)

and registration. As if they were all

he was after. Flashlight illuminating

every move, Dad reached for

the glove box. Instinctively,

the cop’s hand slipped down

toward his hip, and the extremely

large pistol poised there. Slowly.

Dad rooted around for ten seconds

or so. ’S here somewhere. Hang on.

Finally he found the requisite paperwork.

Expired. All of it. But even if it

hadn’t been, Dad was going to jail

after breathing point one two.

A second cop arrived just in time

to help with the breathalyzer.

And, seeing as how Kortni was

also more than a little wobbly, he

ended up driving us home. They

called a tow truck for Dad’s car.

And since it was a holiday weekend,

both Dad and car stayed in lockup

for four days. Kortni slept for two

of them. Woke up, ate some cereal,

then jumped back on the beer train.

Kyle was in Fresno until Sunday.

His dad got pissed every time I called,

so I didn’t even have phone time for comfort.

I was stark, raving stir-crazy. Almost bored

enough by Saturday to get an early start

on my history essay. Almost enough by