MR. MANIAC

CHAPTER 11

Dean worked slowly that morning. He trudged along with the task of the day to day. Gary was erect with humor and optimism. He and another carpenter by the name of James were arguing in a good spirited tone. Their pleasantries were nice to observe. Sometimes they would include Dean in them, asking him about himself, to which he'd lie the usual lie and make himself seem normal and timid. He preferred it that way, he preferred to be recessive. They talked usually about masculine things, casinos, women, their hard work ethics, and the occasional need for alcohol when the boss wasn't around. The boss liked to talk about the work area, eyeing mistakes, ever too eager to point them out, and let his passion for his work overtake him, and cause him to yell and scream and become red in the face. Gary and James often spoke of beating him to a pulp if he weren't their boss. Which would always lead to a segway into the two mastodons discussing in long tangents the importance of a man's principles and the proper way to go about things.

They loved talking about those sorts of things the most, the values all men should hold, the loss of manhood by choosing a dierent sexuality. The sensationalism of great men who came before them that they took down at young ages, and of course those who were impervious to being taken down, all due to their manhood being impenetrable. In all reality Dean didn't care. He agreed with some statements and disagreed with some, but the disagreement he kept to himself. They shared beers on coolers on lunch breaks and the end of their days, sometimes with the boss (however they weren't their real selves around him until he left. ). Which insisting wasn't being a coward, but protecting the income that fed their families. They spoke wisdom and arrogance, humble teachings of life and ignorant braggings of their misdeeds, which Dean ignored altogether, he didn't want to be reminded about himself, nor did he ever find it glorifying to have a problem he couldn't possibly explain to anyone. Let alone parents.

Near the end of the day he walked out of the house they had been working on in a secluded limited cul-de-sac. It was nice. A tow truck was lifting Gary's prized ruby red trans am onto it's bed. Gary shook his head in disappointment.

"Damn transmission is out. Mothrrfucker."
"How long will it take you to fix it?" Dean inquired, his voice meek, and small

"Awh, I can fix that damn thing in a day. But I'm gonna do myself one better. I'm gonna buy a new transmission, have that baby nice and purrin'. Then I'm gone sell it."

"How will you get to work?"

"Probably just take the bus for right now. I'm trying to fix up my truck ya see. She's a beauty man. A o-five ford raptor. She's pitched black. All blacked out man, I swear. Titanium rims, suspension higher than a girae dick. She just needs a new engine, new harmonizer, balancer, axel, and she'll be fuckin A, man."

Gary took two large hop-skips towards Dean, showing him a picture of his prized vehicle on his phone. She was indeed beautiful. The truck looked like a homemade war machine. Dean was a muscle car enthusiast, but he appreciated a nice truck. But this wasn't a nice truck, this had a poetic beauty to it. A beauty that reminded him of his old car. He tried not to think about the past too much, didn't want to bring up old memories, old nightmares, old scars of his aggression. He smiled and nodded the car o. Settling for saying it's nice. Not wanting to dive deep, lest he remember who he used to be, and be brought back from out of his newfound peace.

"How will you get home?" Dean asked innocently

"James'll take me. We've been carpooling for a while except for today. I had to pick up one of my daughters from her mother's house. But yeah, thanks for asking Dean. You're alright. How do you normally get home? I never see you drive or ride a bike. Do you walk here?"

"Yeah, I take the train and walk. I prefer it that way, it helps me get a chance to clear my head before and after work. Can't really think in a car ya know?"