A little fan rattled furiously trying hard to blow the stale air in the cab around. The air conditioner was long dead with no attempt at repair. The drivers' window thrown open you could only see the head of the short man at the wheel driving reckless and unconcerned. His music spilled out the window shattering the quiet morning piece of lonely streets.
These were the empty road ways of progress or were before being bled empty by recession. Low buildings empty and quiet once sunlit and bird sung seemed swallowed up by drums and guitar. The music was metal and I'm sure our little driver could point to a patch on his jacket and tell you much of the band. If you are curious lets say it was Coroner or King Diamond or something like that. Whatever it was the streets were once quiet and now they were not.
The coach rolled hard on the road but finally came to a stop. The Driver found a cul de sac and settled the motor home in for the day. Everything here was empty not a business open for work, which suited him well. There was no one to bang on the door and tell him to leave. None cared or were concerned by his few day long camp. Hull parked his home and drew the curtains closed, sleeping a few hours before the day was ready to begin.
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