Drum and Bass

He blew down Litzer with those Carters blazing. They were pumping out bass by the pound. He was an aircraft carrier he was so heavy. He was the center of the world, man, and the sound flowed from him like lava. He was hot. He was on fire. He was heavy. He felt it boom through the steering wheel. You're not careful, the sound would buck you right out the sunroof. Buck you out like a bull with a migraine.

Hang on tight, we're taking a left onto Fearing, and he was sailing. The steering wheel glided through his fingers like wind through a screen door. This was the best part, when the bass drum and the bass duked it out, and he felt it through the soles of the Hollies he was wearing tonight. The baby blues with the white trim. Hot. And cold, both. He was a nuclear ice cube. He could have a body in the trunk, and they would have been dancing back there. He was the party. And the party was rolling on, spilling like love from a volcano up and down Fearing.

He passed little people in front of Racquel's, and they looked up at him with love in their eyes and they felt the vibration in his wake. Their clothes and their hair drawn to him in the vacuum he made. He was so fast he sucked the air out and then he sucked out what was left. He wanted it all. It was all his.

Everything was brown with his Larsens. They mellowed everything out to a golden glow. The streetlights, tail-lights, traffic lights, all quietly mellowly goldenly brown and smooth. Coca-cola. Sweet honey. The world parted when it saw him coming and closed up behind, folding him in its honeyed embrace. He rolled on. And he was the party.