Roe Hobbs Racing is happy to unveil its latest car replica to the Forza 3 race simulator. featuring the #96 1998 subaru 22b Skid Stoppers car. made world famous by Roe Hobbs Himself when he drove thru the grand stands killing two and injuring eleven to win the event at the Rally Depends, in Argentina. The same car he conceved his forth child with his second wife cashmere in later that night.
Relive the glory and the passion with the #96 Skid Stoppers adult diapers car.
"Skid Stoppers Adult Diapers, Look for the neon package!"
RHR president Jed Osterneck
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Forza 3 Racing. Free car desgins / Herpasore! Sooth that monster! /
Roe Hobbs Racing and Vagatech Industries is proud to present the #32 Herpasore Ferrari California Race car design to Forza 3. The Paint Scheme is the Iconic Slick Lizard Design which Legend Roe Hobbs Himself was driving during his Historic come from behind victory in which he crashed thirteen other competitors to secure the win and point championship in the Tucks+ road car series. Please Enjoy this piece of history free of charge on the Forza 3 race simulator and think of Vagatech for all of your personal Hygene needs. "Vagatech, Race quality feminine products."
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Stubborn Bastard Pair
In my current situation my eyes have been opened to the subject that humans are never satisfied or content. It’s this drive to better ourselves, it’s a curiosity to learn and understand, it’s our nature to adapt and evolve.
I knew this since I was young, but for the first time I see this complex spark in my self in my current state through my boots.
Yes work boots, the two objects that allow you to move just about anywhere, the pair of ware which warms in the cold, the couple that match and lace with professionalism, the boots that tell people I am a blue collar type of person, that kind of boot.
The History: in my ten years of construction I have worn two pairs of work boot. Both pairs have done well dealing with the cold, the heat, the rain, sleet, etc. of weather, but also chemicals of concrete, adhesives, clean products, etc., also to mention the motion of myself. It’s amazing how things break down when you move it or contact it with another object. Think of a tire. So what I am saying is a work boot is tough and worked.
They are hard to wear after eight hours of work. At times I find myself taking them off while I drive home. A moment in time I do enjoy, any worker would vouch to that notion. They are hot with a minimal amount of moisture. The laces are tight from the strangling motion of my walk. They angrily stare back as I sit for break relieved to give my feet a break. Think of a locker room. So what I am saying is a work boot is function only with nothing to hide.
Now my point: I am unemployed so my boots sit vacant. I respect them because they have been with me every step. They show the wounds of work with small tears and undone threading. The color is mixed with the colors of the earth, and yet they keep going with more years of consistent effort.
So now they are just foot ware due to my current situation. Something they never knew or understand, but in the process they are fashionable with their scares. They say “I have been going long before you got out of bed. I have been kissing the earth while you brushed your teeth. I know the effort it takes to earn money, while you steal it from un-educated people in your comfortable office with penny-loafers telling your story.”
Foot attire tells people our story, where we have been, what we have experienced and who we are. Even if we are trying to become someone better. I am trying to find a more comfortable job which is easier on my body but I will always respect my boots and where they have led me.
“I want to work not sit by the door while the daylight wastes away.” The Stubborn Bastard Pair.
I knew this since I was young, but for the first time I see this complex spark in my self in my current state through my boots.
Yes work boots, the two objects that allow you to move just about anywhere, the pair of ware which warms in the cold, the couple that match and lace with professionalism, the boots that tell people I am a blue collar type of person, that kind of boot.
The History: in my ten years of construction I have worn two pairs of work boot. Both pairs have done well dealing with the cold, the heat, the rain, sleet, etc. of weather, but also chemicals of concrete, adhesives, clean products, etc., also to mention the motion of myself. It’s amazing how things break down when you move it or contact it with another object. Think of a tire. So what I am saying is a work boot is tough and worked.
They are hard to wear after eight hours of work. At times I find myself taking them off while I drive home. A moment in time I do enjoy, any worker would vouch to that notion. They are hot with a minimal amount of moisture. The laces are tight from the strangling motion of my walk. They angrily stare back as I sit for break relieved to give my feet a break. Think of a locker room. So what I am saying is a work boot is function only with nothing to hide.
Now my point: I am unemployed so my boots sit vacant. I respect them because they have been with me every step. They show the wounds of work with small tears and undone threading. The color is mixed with the colors of the earth, and yet they keep going with more years of consistent effort.
So now they are just foot ware due to my current situation. Something they never knew or understand, but in the process they are fashionable with their scares. They say “I have been going long before you got out of bed. I have been kissing the earth while you brushed your teeth. I know the effort it takes to earn money, while you steal it from un-educated people in your comfortable office with penny-loafers telling your story.”
Foot attire tells people our story, where we have been, what we have experienced and who we are. Even if we are trying to become someone better. I am trying to find a more comfortable job which is easier on my body but I will always respect my boots and where they have led me.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Mis-adventures of Butterknife Josen
"45Industry is a proud sponsor of the TampaDerm 48 car in the Forza Motorsport 3 Racing simulator. With professionalism and national spirit the Tampaderm team is dedicated to further the famed history of the TampaDerm brand with the Co-operation of 45Industry. That pedigree of diligent work on the track is a by product of the past efforts of the TampaDerm product since 1993."
President Roe Hobbs, founder of 45Industry
President Roe Hobbs, founder of 45Industry
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Unfortunate Dwight Collins. 3
Dwight Collins head rested against the leather wheel. His wet forehead gave the wheel a saturated sponge feel. The ignition did not respond to his needs. He looked up at the shaded garage and tried it again making sure his feet were on the petals. For the first time he looked behind him applying the brake. No red glare from behind or off the other vehicles.
He sat there for a minute re-living this morning events trying to understand what was japanning. He smirked at how movie-eske this morning is. “Attackers on America; how’d they do it?” His overdosed TV/movie mind ran wild: EMP, terrorism, governmental tampering, etc. He came to and simply said he needs to get home then go from there.
He went through his SUV finding the useful things he wound need on a walk. Two things grabbed his attention, a little medical kit in his grove compartment and a crowbar he forgot about in the back. At that point he wished he wasn’t such a clean bug, only things left were a coloring book and an empty bag of chips. He decided to give up the search when his head popped the rear view mirror as he wiggled back to the front. It presented a Mr. Collins Dwight did not like, a terrified Dwight. He ripped the mirror off its housing and stuffed it in his pocket.
He got out and locked his door; thankfully it was an old style manual lock. But he couldn’t get his eyes out of his head. Absolute terror with a mouth that took giant gasp of air. The lines on his face were so prominent. His hair and face wet from all the sweat, he dare not look at his out of shape mass. He tried to shake it off when another scream came from the streets. He trotted over to find the source of the scream on Beau street, his knees ached again as he moved.
It was a woman who wasn’t in physical pain, but fear rapped her face as she pointed to the sky. Dwight followed the point which amplified his anxiety. The sky was dotted with falling men. ‘Paratroopers’, Dwight’s mind raced with images of world war two and other propaganda images of soldiers dropping into ‘enemy’ territory. All the words Dwight keeps going to have one solution which is war on American soil.
He dropped back to his SUV on the second level when the falling men rolled as they landed. He tried to reason with his frantic mind. ‘It’s an exercise, war game, worse case an evacuation that required paratroopers.’ He thought, until a single gun shot went off. He went back with uneasy curiosity. Peeping over the concert wall his eyes grew to the point they might fall out. A woman lay in the street with a chest wound and her body shutting down. Her eyes slowly, lazily moved from building to building.
Dwight froze against the cold shaded wall still looking for a reason of the mayhem. But the soldiers or monsters aimed their weapons and began shooting all the people. The citizens of Chicago ran but lost their lives to the maniacs with their professional demeanor. Dwight knelt to the cold concrete putting his hands to it letting the crowbar fall. His breaths were lost and his eye sight blurred as if death was playing a sick guess who game from behind.
He didn’t know what to do but wait and see what they would do. He dared not look again because the firing had stopped and the sight of all those people would cripple Dwight. He listened and heard a voice, “that garage, get up there and give us a bird eye view WILLIAMS.” Dwight’s eyes narrowed, Williams? But he heard racing boot steps even with the screams and occasional gun fire.
Dwight with his crowbar raced to the front of his SUV which was hidden from the poor lighting. The Williams jogged past without thinking of a loose person hiding. Dwight got three seconds of the soldier as he ran up the ramp. Dwight moved along the side of his vehicle as Williams went to the third level staying hidden. Williams kept going and Dwight found even a better spot with no vehicles around by a freight elevator.
It was very dark with the only light dead black from the missing power. Dwight along the wall peeping out occasionally breathed and thought the moments out, recalling history and trying to compare the moment with anything to come up with a solution, even though it was just him at the moment. But at least he could see where this was going. He just couldn’t come to a conclusion with it; it was too brief and incomplete for him to compare it to an invasion, terrorism, or even a bunch of psyche-ward patients.
“Damn it where did Williams go! Demetrius go get him!” the same voice rang out with heated frustration. ‘Demetrius?’ Dwight was confused now, American name, Russian name, and a Turkish angry voice. He had no clue who they were. But he stopped thinking and hid as the echoing boot stomps raced up the ramps. They came and went with no problems. But Dwight’s curiosity and fear grabbed him again, two times he was lucky to hide from ‘them’, but it’s only a matter of time before they search or use this place as a rally point.
Dwight’s next move was following Demetrius up the ramp giving a level of separation. Dwight knew this garage was huge with twenty levels of parking; part of it was hooked to his building. His ageing body lagged as he heard Demetrius get two levels ahead of him. “Damn you Williams where are you!?” yelled the Russian man as he climbed.
A voice answered, “Up here,” Williams, defiantly an American Georgia accent barked out three levels up. “What’s going on I am staying up here while you guys move out!” ‘They're not afraid at all’ Dwight thought, just yelling they’re plans and being so rushed.
Dwight followed not thinking what his next move is. But shots rang out to move him to a hiding spot. “More people!!!!” Williams screamed with a hint of fear.
“Hang on Williams!” Demetrius answered back. Dwight was so confused; it was such an upside down situation. Firing upon unarmed civilians, this is so wrong. No prejudices, just down right genocide. Than a Spartan history cross his mind, a slave based communist society. But he shook it to the back of his head as their gun fire kept going.
He moved up the levels get closer to the mayhem. Dwight was at the point where he could see the entrance of the stair tower and the dead co-workers. Fear took over his mind again an hour ago he was trying to get to this point, his abrupt funeral if he got to this point.
The two monsters both stopped to reload. A push of three men came flying at the monster. Dwight didn’t know what to say or thinking as the first was kick down. But the other two reached their goal and the wrestling match began. And it happened and throw Dwight on his rear. A grenade was loosened and went off ending all four men and silencing the stair tower as people climbed back up.
Dwight moved to all the corpses rubbing the soar out off. His stomach turned rapidly as he stood over the four mangled mass. He studied what was left of the monsters; he fumbled through their gear trying to salvage anything. He had a nice pack when he heard horrible news. Echoing boot stomps closing up the garage. So many it sounded like a rush of water……
He sat there for a minute re-living this morning events trying to understand what was japanning. He smirked at how movie-eske this morning is. “Attackers on America; how’d they do it?” His overdosed TV/movie mind ran wild: EMP, terrorism, governmental tampering, etc. He came to and simply said he needs to get home then go from there.
He went through his SUV finding the useful things he wound need on a walk. Two things grabbed his attention, a little medical kit in his grove compartment and a crowbar he forgot about in the back. At that point he wished he wasn’t such a clean bug, only things left were a coloring book and an empty bag of chips. He decided to give up the search when his head popped the rear view mirror as he wiggled back to the front. It presented a Mr. Collins Dwight did not like, a terrified Dwight. He ripped the mirror off its housing and stuffed it in his pocket.
He got out and locked his door; thankfully it was an old style manual lock. But he couldn’t get his eyes out of his head. Absolute terror with a mouth that took giant gasp of air. The lines on his face were so prominent. His hair and face wet from all the sweat, he dare not look at his out of shape mass. He tried to shake it off when another scream came from the streets. He trotted over to find the source of the scream on Beau street, his knees ached again as he moved.
It was a woman who wasn’t in physical pain, but fear rapped her face as she pointed to the sky. Dwight followed the point which amplified his anxiety. The sky was dotted with falling men. ‘Paratroopers’, Dwight’s mind raced with images of world war two and other propaganda images of soldiers dropping into ‘enemy’ territory. All the words Dwight keeps going to have one solution which is war on American soil.
He dropped back to his SUV on the second level when the falling men rolled as they landed. He tried to reason with his frantic mind. ‘It’s an exercise, war game, worse case an evacuation that required paratroopers.’ He thought, until a single gun shot went off. He went back with uneasy curiosity. Peeping over the concert wall his eyes grew to the point they might fall out. A woman lay in the street with a chest wound and her body shutting down. Her eyes slowly, lazily moved from building to building.
Dwight froze against the cold shaded wall still looking for a reason of the mayhem. But the soldiers or monsters aimed their weapons and began shooting all the people. The citizens of Chicago ran but lost their lives to the maniacs with their professional demeanor. Dwight knelt to the cold concrete putting his hands to it letting the crowbar fall. His breaths were lost and his eye sight blurred as if death was playing a sick guess who game from behind.
He didn’t know what to do but wait and see what they would do. He dared not look again because the firing had stopped and the sight of all those people would cripple Dwight. He listened and heard a voice, “that garage, get up there and give us a bird eye view WILLIAMS.” Dwight’s eyes narrowed, Williams? But he heard racing boot steps even with the screams and occasional gun fire.
Dwight with his crowbar raced to the front of his SUV which was hidden from the poor lighting. The Williams jogged past without thinking of a loose person hiding. Dwight got three seconds of the soldier as he ran up the ramp. Dwight moved along the side of his vehicle as Williams went to the third level staying hidden. Williams kept going and Dwight found even a better spot with no vehicles around by a freight elevator.
It was very dark with the only light dead black from the missing power. Dwight along the wall peeping out occasionally breathed and thought the moments out, recalling history and trying to compare the moment with anything to come up with a solution, even though it was just him at the moment. But at least he could see where this was going. He just couldn’t come to a conclusion with it; it was too brief and incomplete for him to compare it to an invasion, terrorism, or even a bunch of psyche-ward patients.
“Damn it where did Williams go! Demetrius go get him!” the same voice rang out with heated frustration. ‘Demetrius?’ Dwight was confused now, American name, Russian name, and a Turkish angry voice. He had no clue who they were. But he stopped thinking and hid as the echoing boot stomps raced up the ramps. They came and went with no problems. But Dwight’s curiosity and fear grabbed him again, two times he was lucky to hide from ‘them’, but it’s only a matter of time before they search or use this place as a rally point.
Dwight’s next move was following Demetrius up the ramp giving a level of separation. Dwight knew this garage was huge with twenty levels of parking; part of it was hooked to his building. His ageing body lagged as he heard Demetrius get two levels ahead of him. “Damn you Williams where are you!?” yelled the Russian man as he climbed.
A voice answered, “Up here,” Williams, defiantly an American Georgia accent barked out three levels up. “What’s going on I am staying up here while you guys move out!” ‘They're not afraid at all’ Dwight thought, just yelling they’re plans and being so rushed.
Dwight followed not thinking what his next move is. But shots rang out to move him to a hiding spot. “More people!!!!” Williams screamed with a hint of fear.
“Hang on Williams!” Demetrius answered back. Dwight was so confused; it was such an upside down situation. Firing upon unarmed civilians, this is so wrong. No prejudices, just down right genocide. Than a Spartan history cross his mind, a slave based communist society. But he shook it to the back of his head as their gun fire kept going.
He moved up the levels get closer to the mayhem. Dwight was at the point where he could see the entrance of the stair tower and the dead co-workers. Fear took over his mind again an hour ago he was trying to get to this point, his abrupt funeral if he got to this point.
The two monsters both stopped to reload. A push of three men came flying at the monster. Dwight didn’t know what to say or thinking as the first was kick down. But the other two reached their goal and the wrestling match began. And it happened and throw Dwight on his rear. A grenade was loosened and went off ending all four men and silencing the stair tower as people climbed back up.
Dwight moved to all the corpses rubbing the soar out off. His stomach turned rapidly as he stood over the four mangled mass. He studied what was left of the monsters; he fumbled through their gear trying to salvage anything. He had a nice pack when he heard horrible news. Echoing boot stomps closing up the garage. So many it sounded like a rush of water……
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Unfortunate Dwight Collins. 2
Dwight Collins stood up with a pinch in his left knee. His 48 year old body was worrying as hard as his mind. The door he feared ten minutes ago opened behind him. He looked at the two older faces with absolute fear written all over them. This moment he remembers seemed to be the longest of that day.
“What the hell happened to 25 westbee” CEO one said of coarse with a quiver in his throat.
Collins looked at him in the eyes and said frantic to the thought, “This might be the start of another Pearl or 9/11, and either way sir everyone needs to leave, right now.” Collins moved to the stairs down the hall when the other big shot stopped him and said.
“Now wait a minute, its best if we stay put and wait things out instead of running all over the city streaming.” The little man was shooting from the hip like he was making a deal. His eyes flew all over the hallway. And Collins knew not to following him anymore.
“Sir I really do not know what is going on. It could be a traumatic accident, but I am leaving because I saw 25 westboard fall with people inside and that’s reason enough if I want to run around the city screaming my head off.” Collins pulled his arm free and moved to the stairwell. He looked back at the two who moved to the opening to watch the next batch come in. ‘so many stairs to go and they just stand there, fools that I have been afraid of and followed for the last five years, yes I am more foolish.’
He jetted down skipping clusters of steps and vaulting railings to save time. The further he went the more people flooded the stair tower. He didn’t mind the company; it gave him a sense of relief that he wasn’t the only one spooked, ok shitting bricks. The wave of people he was a part of started to push and pull on each other, he realized this was bad. Soon people would get trampled and packed at the garage door. He had to get out of the typhoon of people.
The lobby exit was opened as more tried to funnel in the tower. He just managed to get out knocking a small man over and tripping into a sofa for waiting visitors. He got up and looked around. It was difficult with the light from outside blocked. The rubble from 25 westboard rolled into his building and the dust choked his lungs. He went into a bathroom with a surprisingly small amount of people.
He recognized no one; he pulled his handkerchief out and soaked it with what was left of cold water. He noticed in a garbage can two water bottles as he went to leave. That’s when it hit him, how long will this craziness last. He grabbed them and filled them up, put his mouth to the faucet and took large amounts of water in. His stomach ached from the massive invasion of liquid. But he knew it was a good idea.
One last look at the people in the restroom who were too frantic to speak to. He noticed a woman being clutched by a man. Again he didn’t know either of them but she reminded him of his step daughter and step son if they were with him. As he moved from the bathroom he looked at his phone hoping he could make a call. The screen was stone black and connect-less. He put it in his pocket thinking, ‘expensive paper weight if this keeps going.’
Again in the lobby he put the soaked handkerchief to his mouth and could breathe quite well. But now seeing was the trick. He heard a lot more screaming at the stair tower he was in five minutes ago. His primal thinking got him passed that event. Now he has to get out of the city. The main entrance was blocked so he moved into the first floor following a exterior hallway. Thankfully after three doorways the dusty air was bearable the windows some how survived the next door crash, so he could see.
He un-tucked his shirt so no one would see the water bottles as he found south exit on other side of the building. He figured if he could remember water any other Joe who needed it would grab his in desperation. He came to the conclusion when he we 42 that fighting wasn’t his sport anymore. Just as he finished that thought he saw two fellas exchange fists in the most brutal of fashion.
As Collins passed to the door he noticed a wallet laying next to the two wrestling now, ‘my god, over money, such an ugly god for so many.’ Outside the choking dust was back and his health was a serious concern to him now. It’s been a while since he ran this far, plus to keep going. His adrenaline was doing a good job but it was decreasing because he was getting used to the chaos. As he turned to the vehicle entrance of the garage he thought about his kids again and got a jolt of strength in his legs to move.
The garage was massive and sturdy. As well a shelter for a lot of people. Collin’s face read fear because he was suddenly auditioning as he entered the complex. He smiled as another building fell in the distance. He turned to look as well everyone else. “He has water.” a young boy yelled out. Collin’s treasure was exposed.
“Hold on, we all are over-reacting, his is not the end of the world. Ok, here it is.” He didn’t know if they bought it but he knew he had to keep at least one of the bottles.
“If you’re smart you will share this water and get out of the city as I am. I am going to set this water on the ground for you.” He did as very slowly as they slowed as well. They didn’t think of another bottle with the sparkling one in plain sight. “I will walk away and all of you can settle this amongst yourself and think of this as charity form me.” He finished trying to bring the situation back before the chaos. He moved carefully not to expose his back again. As he got to the second level he saw the madness of a little water can make people, they tore at each other. The women and children got the worse of it. As Collins stared at the crime he realized how bad things got as well how quickly.
The second level he got to his SUV. Inside he took a clean breathe and felt his body quiver in exhaust. From the sights and sounds he was afraid. But the future of his kids was what really took him. He thought where the two would be right now. It was summer time and they were not at school, and that means if they were bored they would do whatever and tracking them down would be hard.
The engine he thought. A cold sweat came over him in the shaded SUV. He put the key in the ignition and said in a low voice. “Please kick over.” He turned the key quickly………
“What the hell happened to 25 westbee” CEO one said of coarse with a quiver in his throat.
Collins looked at him in the eyes and said frantic to the thought, “This might be the start of another Pearl or 9/11, and either way sir everyone needs to leave, right now.” Collins moved to the stairs down the hall when the other big shot stopped him and said.
“Now wait a minute, its best if we stay put and wait things out instead of running all over the city streaming.” The little man was shooting from the hip like he was making a deal. His eyes flew all over the hallway. And Collins knew not to following him anymore.
“Sir I really do not know what is going on. It could be a traumatic accident, but I am leaving because I saw 25 westboard fall with people inside and that’s reason enough if I want to run around the city screaming my head off.” Collins pulled his arm free and moved to the stairwell. He looked back at the two who moved to the opening to watch the next batch come in. ‘so many stairs to go and they just stand there, fools that I have been afraid of and followed for the last five years, yes I am more foolish.’
He jetted down skipping clusters of steps and vaulting railings to save time. The further he went the more people flooded the stair tower. He didn’t mind the company; it gave him a sense of relief that he wasn’t the only one spooked, ok shitting bricks. The wave of people he was a part of started to push and pull on each other, he realized this was bad. Soon people would get trampled and packed at the garage door. He had to get out of the typhoon of people.
The lobby exit was opened as more tried to funnel in the tower. He just managed to get out knocking a small man over and tripping into a sofa for waiting visitors. He got up and looked around. It was difficult with the light from outside blocked. The rubble from 25 westboard rolled into his building and the dust choked his lungs. He went into a bathroom with a surprisingly small amount of people.
He recognized no one; he pulled his handkerchief out and soaked it with what was left of cold water. He noticed in a garbage can two water bottles as he went to leave. That’s when it hit him, how long will this craziness last. He grabbed them and filled them up, put his mouth to the faucet and took large amounts of water in. His stomach ached from the massive invasion of liquid. But he knew it was a good idea.
One last look at the people in the restroom who were too frantic to speak to. He noticed a woman being clutched by a man. Again he didn’t know either of them but she reminded him of his step daughter and step son if they were with him. As he moved from the bathroom he looked at his phone hoping he could make a call. The screen was stone black and connect-less. He put it in his pocket thinking, ‘expensive paper weight if this keeps going.’
Again in the lobby he put the soaked handkerchief to his mouth and could breathe quite well. But now seeing was the trick. He heard a lot more screaming at the stair tower he was in five minutes ago. His primal thinking got him passed that event. Now he has to get out of the city. The main entrance was blocked so he moved into the first floor following a exterior hallway. Thankfully after three doorways the dusty air was bearable the windows some how survived the next door crash, so he could see.
He un-tucked his shirt so no one would see the water bottles as he found south exit on other side of the building. He figured if he could remember water any other Joe who needed it would grab his in desperation. He came to the conclusion when he we 42 that fighting wasn’t his sport anymore. Just as he finished that thought he saw two fellas exchange fists in the most brutal of fashion.
As Collins passed to the door he noticed a wallet laying next to the two wrestling now, ‘my god, over money, such an ugly god for so many.’ Outside the choking dust was back and his health was a serious concern to him now. It’s been a while since he ran this far, plus to keep going. His adrenaline was doing a good job but it was decreasing because he was getting used to the chaos. As he turned to the vehicle entrance of the garage he thought about his kids again and got a jolt of strength in his legs to move.
The garage was massive and sturdy. As well a shelter for a lot of people. Collin’s face read fear because he was suddenly auditioning as he entered the complex. He smiled as another building fell in the distance. He turned to look as well everyone else. “He has water.” a young boy yelled out. Collin’s treasure was exposed.
“Hold on, we all are over-reacting, his is not the end of the world. Ok, here it is.” He didn’t know if they bought it but he knew he had to keep at least one of the bottles.
“If you’re smart you will share this water and get out of the city as I am. I am going to set this water on the ground for you.” He did as very slowly as they slowed as well. They didn’t think of another bottle with the sparkling one in plain sight. “I will walk away and all of you can settle this amongst yourself and think of this as charity form me.” He finished trying to bring the situation back before the chaos. He moved carefully not to expose his back again. As he got to the second level he saw the madness of a little water can make people, they tore at each other. The women and children got the worse of it. As Collins stared at the crime he realized how bad things got as well how quickly.
The second level he got to his SUV. Inside he took a clean breathe and felt his body quiver in exhaust. From the sights and sounds he was afraid. But the future of his kids was what really took him. He thought where the two would be right now. It was summer time and they were not at school, and that means if they were bored they would do whatever and tracking them down would be hard.
The engine he thought. A cold sweat came over him in the shaded SUV. He put the key in the ignition and said in a low voice. “Please kick over.” He turned the key quickly………
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