Joyride- A Short Story

“What’s going on over there?”

A finger was raised eye level to the front passenger via the back seat. Several women were standing in a line facing a fence waist high on the corner of Washington Square South.

Suddenly, a group of women approached the line and began to blindfold them. “What the fuck?” The brother in the front seat said. Still being held by a red light on West 4th, the women doing the blindfolding led the line of women into three black cars parked back-to-back. Engines now revved, they were now directly in front, having turned left on West 4th and MacDougal onto Washington Square South.

“Follow them.” The back seat passenger said to his brother’s friend, the driver.

At the corner of Washington Square South and Sullivan St. a yellow school bus veered in front as it made a right turn, now blocking all of traffic.


After what felt like several minutes all hope in catching up to them seemed lost. “Damn.” The driver said, without sympathy. It wasn’t until the corner of Washington Square North and Waverly Place that the cars were spotted and from there the line of sight never seemed to falter.

The lead car made the turn on East 9th and continued heading north. Each red light gave them time to guess where the hell the cars were going while trying to catch at least a glimpse of what the girls looked like. At the same time a new element came into play; the front passengers from the three cars got out along with one of the blindfolded passengers in back, and procceded to swap cars. “The hell are they doing?” The driver, who was almost mute the entire time, said. “They’re try’re trying to disorient the blindfolded chicks.” The brother said. “Well, they’re disorienting me.” The back seat passenger said.

On the corner of Christopher Street and Hudson, eye contact was made with the back seat passenger and the second car’s driver. A brunette who was clearly older, smiled, spoke to the front passenger side woman, who then looked in the cars’ direction.

A green light, the front passenger then began waving. Before deciphering what this meant the brother in the front seat said “she wants us to follow her” and then proceeded to show the difference between “go in front” and “come on.” The topic was hotly debated as Hudson St became Eighth Avenue. At Penn Station the girls turned, made another passenger exchange, then turned onto Ninth Avenue.

A red light on the corner of Ninth Avenue and West Thirtieth, a right hand turn was being signaled by all three cars. The brunette the back seat passenger made eye contact with, now in the first car, nodded her head. No doubt about it she wants us to follow, the back seat passenger thought.

“They’re turning onto the lanes leading to the Lincoln Tunnel.” The driver said.

“So?” The back seat passenger said.

“Do we really wanna go to Jersey for some pussy?” The driver said.

“Haven’t you driven to Connecticut for pussy?”

“That was your brother.”

“But you went with him, right? There was a friend waiting for you, right?”

Silence as the light turned green. Not more than a few inches from eye contact the brunette would occasionally glance back. “She wants us to follow dude. Fucking follow.” The back seat passenger was a virgin, no girl had ever shown this much attention to him. She was clearly older than him. He needed something good to happen in his life. His brother has had a girlfriend before. The driver, a year older than his brother, currently had one but is what you’d call a dog.

An exit off the ramp loomed in the not-too-far-off distance. The back seat passenger wanted to cry at the thought of the car veering in that direction. He didn’t want to beg but felt like all hope was lost. He just wanted to get laid.

The brunette smiled at the back seat passenger. He flashed a nervous, stomach bubbling smile back as the car gained speed. As did theirs. The off ramp drew closer, the entrance to the tunnel seemingly further away now. He held his breath.


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