(This is a story about Nick Gorky, the eldest of three brothers—each startlingly himself in his own way—who decides to witness a demolition.)
In 1969, Nick Gorky was 16, and for him his driver's permit was more or less a license. But he never took his father's car—that quiet man was so quiet he made you jumpy. Nick was the eldest of the Gorky brothers, and the most—what? "Violent" is too simple a word to describe the storms that buffeted him every day—which he in turn might unleash on someone within reach—except his father, never his father. Nick had no desire to break that silence, so he'd convince one of his older friends to let him borrow a car.
He seldom had a destination in mind; he just wanted to drive. But lately the idea of Going Somewhere bubbled at the rim, an early indication that, he thought, someday maybe soon I'm gonna just drive red line 7000 man thunder alley fireball jungle hot rods hot babes and fuckin bullitt—and his dad could finally speak up, and bring down his rage on—nothing cause Nickyboy will be loooooooong gone. When he was in a car by himself, his mind drifted to hot rod hullaballoo speed's their creed and so on—and eventually he roused himself, surprised at the speedometer needle way up there nudging the red, and reluctantly coasted it down, the curves easier, the road just a way to get home.
Comments