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ADELAIDE Independent Monthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Mensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 

 

 

GPS
by Day McKnight  

 

 

Ernest stood in the driveway of his friend’s house, looking at a light gray car that was missing all four of its wheels. The axles of the car were strapped onto slabs of concrete. Ernest’s friend, Tyson, walked out of the front door of his two-story suburban house, carrying two bottles of water.
“Ty, c’mon man,” said Ernest.
“What?”
“I’m not buying this.”
“Nah, see, don’t get caught up with the looks or none of that. This baby’s something else.” Tyson handed Ernest a bottle of water. He then pulled out a pair of keys from his front pocket and manually unlocked the door from the passenger side. “You got to at least sit in it before making a judgment call.”
Ernest closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ty, I’m not doing this today.”
“Just for a few seconds. In and Out.”
Ernest walked over to the driver side, opened the door, and sat down.
Tyson handed over the keys to Ernest before opening the glove compartment and rummaging through it. “Well, go ahead. Start it up,” said Tyson.
Ernest held the keys in his hands. Tyson searched through a pile of junk. After a few seconds, he decided to put the key in the ignition and started the car.
He looked back at Tyson who was now holding a GPS.
“IHOP or Waffle House?” asked Tyson.
Ernest motioned his hand toward the handle of the door but was stopped by the hand of Tyson.
“Okay. Okay. Okay. Just look. Let’s do IHOP,” said Tyson.
Tyson tilted the screen of the GPS toward Ernest. He typed the letters IHOP into the search bar and selected the one closest to their current location. He then pressed a green button that read - Let’s Go!
The interior of the car emitted a neon blue light as the vehicle rose half a foot off the ground. Everything outside of the car went pitch black for less than half a second before the outside world was once again visible.
The car was now sitting in a parking lot in front of the International House Of Pancakes.
Ernest swung open his door, chipping the paint of the car door that was parked next to him. He stepped out of the car, leaving the door open. “What the fuck was that shit?” he asked.
A woman that was walking out of the restaurant covered the ears of her child as she glared at Ernest from the side of her eye.
Tyson laughed hysterically while sitting in his seat. “Dude, the look on your face.”
Ernest slammed the door of the car. “I told you- I don’t mess with all that teleportation shit.” Ernest walked in the front of the car and kicked at the headlights. “Keep fucking around like that and you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“Aye man, c’mon,” Tyson said, still laughing in between his words.
“Fuck you,” said Ernest as he walked away.
“How about this, I’ll cut the price in half, just for you.”
Ernest continued to walk away.
Tyson’s laughter had now dialed down to a mild chuckle. As he watched his old friend walk further away, he poked his head out of the window. “What about this? Free of charge. Act now and I’ll even through in the GPS.”
Ernest raised his middle finger above his shoulder as he stormed away from the car and off of the property of IHOP.

 

 

About the Author:

Day Vaughn McKnight is a writer from the DC metropolitan area. He has works that have previously appeared in Ursa Major Literary Magazine. You can find him on Twitter @DayVaughnTweets.

 

 

 

 

     
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