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Airway Victor: A Short Story

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“Damn. This. Stupid. Thing.” Freddy grumbled under his breath, wiping the beads of sweat that had begun accumulating on his brow. Frustrated, Fred interlocked his fingers behind his back, resulting in a loud CRACK from his spine. He sighed heavily as he dropped his hands to his side. “Wanda, go ahead and call the—oh...”Fred trailed off. Wanda was leaning on the bumper of the hovercar, which was tilting a little to the left thanks to the scissor jack. Her wristwatch flashed blue, then green, then blue again—the numbers “001 – 3:22” were just visible on the screen, indicating she had already phoned up the tow company a few minutes prior, and had just been connected. “Yes,” she chirped, her voice high and nasally, her …show more content…

The one below Airway Victor? No, we're below Airway Victor. Yes, on the ground! That’s why I said highway! Well, what did you expect us to do? This monster isn't a glider! We couldn't make it to the exit. We detoured down here! Well, if that was the case I wouldn’t have had to call you, now would I?” She looked bemusedly at her husband, and rolled her eyes. Handsome for his age, Fridrik “Freddy” Jonas Martin slicked his floppy ginger hair out of his eyes. He really ought to cut his hair soon, Wanda thought, though she secretly liked his long hair. It reminded her of when they first met, all those years ago. Wanda wasn't used to walking below airways, she had always been told as a girl “The highways are for the history books and the bums” and she was advised to avoid them at all costs. Still, she couldn't blame her husband. It's not like he's the one who burned out the right burner. Either way, she thought, this will just be another adventure to add to our lifejournal. The man on the other end of the phone assured her they were on their way. “Thank you so much, we'll be …show more content…

Again, he pushed his begloved hands through his hair, which was beginning to mat up with sweat. Unusually warm for an October evening, he thought to himself as he loosened his black tie. He proceeded to unbutton the top three buttons of his white button up shirt, exposing a grey undershirt. Freddy, unlike his wife, was a victim of status. He was unused to the dust and dirt of the old highway, and was beyond disillusioned with the idea of waiting another 53 minutes for the tow company to “steal his money,” as his mother would have

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