by Jake Christie

FLYING CAR.
a story.

He laid on the horn like the cure for cancer would come out, which was a silly notion since everybody knew you could only get the cure for cancer from branded PharmaMed Cancer Cure Distribution Machines. His horn split the air like the Red Sea, but nothing in that air so much as wiggled.

The obstruction, or whatever it was, was so far ahead that he couldn't see it. Cars were floating six lanes thick on all sides of him – front, back, left, right, up, and down. The FloaTec engines hummed rhythmically. He moved his own car ever so slightly in a small circle, looking for a way out or, at the very least, a way to change lanes.

There was something that looked like a space between two cars, floating about a length-and-a-half ahead of him. He focused on the spot with the intensity of a laser beam – and not one of those cheap ones, either.

He moved forward so that his bumper was almost touching the car in front of him, then laid on the horn once more. The driver of the car jumped in his seat and almost hit his head on his bubble dome roof.

“Move it!” yelled the horn-blaring man as he blared his horn.

The man in the next car lowered his dome and turned in his seat, shrugging his shoulders and putting his palms up. “Where do you want me to go?” he said.

“Keep moving!” replied the man. “I have to get to work!”

“I don't want to be here either,” said the man in the next car. “You're going to have to wait.”

“Let me go over you,” said the angry man.

The man in the next car raised his dome. The other man laid on his horn.


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