S.G. Browne

Oh Say Can You See…

I’m riding in the back set of an Audi A6, sitting next to roughly four sticks of dynamite.

Most of that is in the form of a pyrotechnic cake with nine, three-inch mortars of Grade B professional fireworks with a street value of $120.  Without a pyrotechnician’s license, possession of Grade B fireworks is a felony.

I’m sitting next to a felony.

If that’s not bad enough, the dirver of the Audi A6, my college buddy Brian, has a vanity plate on his car that reads:


So I keep asking him to slow down.

I’m not so worried about the four sticks of dynamite on the seat next to me going off.  But if we get rear ended, the six rockets in the trunk directly behind me come to roughly another four sticks of dynamite.

And I’m wondering if it’s such a good idea to wear my seatbelt.

Filed under: Random Fiction — S.G. Browne @ 6:54 am

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