They’re OK, The Last Days In May

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

Hunter S Thompson.

Aubrey was way into the gonzo journalism. He hadn’t yet been born when Hell Angels was first published, and you always got the feeling that he thought he’d missed something big.

Skinny kid. Round Lennon glasses. Army surplus sweaters. Tan cords. Desert boots. Grown-out bowl cut. It was always Imaginary 1972 for Aubrey.

The school had a tiny journalism department. It was assembled after the Kent State shootings, presumably to inculcate a sense of moral indignation in the student body. Power of the press. Woodward and Bernstein kind of stuff. Aubrey didn’t talk much at bullshit sessions in the student union, where kids smoked so much the drop ceiling became discolored. In classes, however, he was righteous – to the point of abusive behavior. Shouting down teachers and Reagnite students. His outbursts became legendary around campus. Transcripts were traded like bootleg Dead tapes.

Aubrey decided to get deep gonzo. He switched his Bob Weir LL Bean get ups for a Raiders jacket and started hanging around the housing projects near campus. Miraculously, no-one kicked his ass, but no-one sold him any crack, either.

His brother’s roommate at UVM hooked Aubrey up with an honest-to-God drug dealer, a dude named Mr. Coffee who looked like a grinning Sweathog, but who was real bad news. He agreed to take Aubrey up to Quebec to meet some members of Rock Machine who’d sell him some speed. This was to be Aubrey’s senior thesis.

No-one ever saw the Sweathog or Aubrey again.

In May, Aubrey’s parents came to the school to give a speech about their likely-deceased son. Aubrey’s dad was a McGovernite braying ass with a huge adam’s apple. Saliva flicked from his bottom lip when he confronted others on their ignorance or hypocrisy, which was often. He stood at a podium in the chapel basement and whinnied about how the students body’s unforgivable complacency had led to his son’s demise.

Well, we saw where Aubrey inherited his personality, and nobody mentioned that he owed everybody money for all the weed he’d ‘bought’ but never paid for.

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