"Almost Green"

"Creeping Death"

What a grueling week it’s been. Running around the high and mighty administrative offices scattered around Lungmen, signing off mountains of papers here and there… Ah, best to just leave it in the back of one’s mind.

Click,

Clack.

Door’s a bit rusty, but other than that? Almost good as new.

Plop oneself down on the couch-like seat… Now THIS is comfort. 

Tweak the mirrors, adjust the headrest…

Slide the key in, slam down on the clutch, twist the starter around.

Let the engine cough a bit… Come on, pretty please? Would you be so kind and start up for me, love? 

…

…

You old piece of shit, star-... Ow! Sorry, Law. 

Start up, you rust bucket! Come on, come on, come on, c- Oh, there we go.

Andy smiled to himself as the engine finally decided to roar pathetically at the end of its coughing fit. It was a good van, couldn’t say it wasn’t, just that it had some major mood swings on most days.

His fingers squeezed the shabby gear stick and threw the pile of scrap into reverse. The wheels slowly started rolling along the gray asphalt, bending under the weight stashed in the loading bay. Pulling out onto the empty road, Andy rolled down his window and took one last look at the array of concrete housing-blocks lined perfectly in unison. Goodbye, you pathetic excuse of an architectural wonder. Some brutalist’s wet dream, that's what you are.

He flicked the concrete slabs a middle finger and drove off into the sunset.

Driving down the sun-soaked streets, passing by each familiar alley, Andy felt a sense of peace wash over him, a glimmer of self-worth sprouting its roots somewhere in his stomach. With an official slip signifying the legitimate existence of the Pacific Empire logistics company (all rights reserved, ltd.) lazily wallowing about one of his cargo’s endless pockets, lady luck still seemed to have him in mind. Even after everything, after the grueling, past seven years, he still had someone looking out for him.

Twisting the radio’s frequency knob, it came alive with a lively anthem to sweeten up the lengthy drive. A few drumrolls slid in, followed by a rapid screech of an electric guitar - the cacophony quickly filled the cabin, putting a wide grin on the little entrepreneur’s face. 

There he went, swimming past the images of industrial might, slithering along with the streams of asphalt spilling around the labyrinths of factories and warehouses, all locked behind massive walls with vines of barbed wire scaling them whole. Andy wholeheartedly disliked the industrial district. The late nights spent drinking, full of staring down at the dimming lights and ironworks pumping out Law-knows-whats made of cheap steel introduced a certain bleakness to his mind, caused it to die out with each sip taken, each new metal contraption pulled from the molds. 

All the sounds of heavy machinery whirring and producing non-stop were effortlessly drowned out by some cunning rebel’s raspy voice oozing from the radio. Andy tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling the leather tearing here and there.