Terminal Island
“It was led by two big motorcycles and a truck encroaching on his lane with a sign that said Wide Load. But it wasn’t even Christmas yet, he thought. Almost, though. He felt a little tingle of guilt as he remembered, once again, that he hadn’t gotten anything for Maeve or Rebecca yet. To avoid that thought he watched the float. Could it actually be for the Rose Parade already? He remembered that the powers that be had wrecked the Rose Bowl, anyway. Now it was set up to please the gamblers and math fetishists, turning a traditional matchup of the Big Ten and Pac Ten into some foul computer-selected national playoff that would put teams like Florida and Nebraska in the bowl but bring in millions in Vegas betting. Not that he cared that much, really. Football was about as important to him as a flower show.
He got a better look at the float as it drew abreast, and what he saw gave him a shock. It was made of flowers, all right, but the dystopic tableau depicted several dead young men lying... in front of a burned-out storefront while others crouched within—a shoot-out at the LA Gang Corral.MoreLess
He got a better look at the float as it drew abreast, and what he saw gave him a shock. It was made of flowers, all right, but the dystopic tableau depicted several dead young men lying... in front of a burned-out storefront while others crouched within—a shoot-out at the LA Gang Corral.MoreLess
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