SKANKS. Keaton Albertson

to accelerate. After a dozen or so passes, Suave began whipping around the turns faster and with more confidence. During our final pass, Suave took the intersection turn too wide and sunk the side of the car into a spring ditch that paralleled one of the side roads. Both passenger side wheels went into the ditch, high-centering the small car on the embankment. Fortunately, the ditch was rather narrow but the car tilted over in such a manner that the entire right side was smashed up against the opposite bank of the ditch, preventing me from opening the passenger side door.

      “Son of a bitch!” I exclaimed. “This is the second time in four months that I’ve been sitting in a car, stuck in a god damn ditch.”

      “We just fucked up Rat’s car,” Suave pointed out, as he began laughing hysterically. “That was cool.”

      “Yeah, no shit. Let’s get out of here!”

      Suave exited the car through the driver side and I scaled over the gearshift and seats to follow him. Once we were both outside of the stolen auto, we examined the situation and determined that it was hopeless. The car was wedged into the spring ditch and could not be moved.

      “What the hell are we gonna do now?” Suave asked, still laughing over the situation.

      “Fuck it,” I said. “Let’s just go. Your stepdad’s car isn’t too far from here. Let’s just walk.”

      Suave continued to laugh. “What about Rat’s car?”

      I shrugged my shoulders with indifference. “Who cares? It ain’t ours. Rat don’t know we have it. For all he knows, some stranger jacked it and wrecked it into the ditch. Let’s just get out of here.”

      “Alright,” Suave agreed, turning away from the wreckage.

      We began walking down the street for Suave’s vehicle, leaving Rat’s car for whoever might want it. A truck soon pulled over beside us and the teenage driver rolled down his window to speak. “Ya’ll need some help?” he asked.

      “With what?” I replied.

      “Ain’t that yer car back there in the ditch?”

      “Well, we were driving it, if that’s what you mean,” Suave said.

      We both looked at each other in a dismissive manner and then continued trudging ahead.

      “Don’t ya’ll want some help getting it out of the ditch?” the kid asked as we were walking away from him.

      Suave and I looked back at the kid, stunned by the inquiry. We had written the vehicle off and never thought of salvaging it or asking for help to get it out of the ditch. But help was offered nonetheless.

      “Um, I guess so,” I replied.

      “Yeah, sure,” Suave half-heartedly added.

      The driver coincidentally had a set of towing belts in the back of his pickup, as if he had done this type of thing before and prided himself on helping others pull their wrecks out of ditches. Perhaps he was patrolling the city streets, looking for stranded peers to aid with his services. Regardless, Suave and I stood by as the kid backed up his truck, snatched up the towing belts, secured the shitbox Chevy to his towing ball, and yanked the wedged vehicle out of the ditch. We sarcastically thanked the young lad and then the kid drove off with a big grin on his face, apparently feeling like he had just accomplished something chivalrous.

      I reacquired the shitbox Chevy and immediately drove it back to Rat’s house. When Rat returned home from his family vacation several days later, he discovered that his car had a severe steering malfunction, a broken suspension, and several sizeable dents along the passenger side body. I had a difficult time explaining how a pair of my dirty boxers were found inside of his ride that was mysteriously left all fucked up on the curb beside his house. I nonetheless vehemently denied any involvement in the affair.