Community Novel

Andy gripped the wheel of his BMW M3 tightly with his left hand, reached out with his right and down shifted.  The car crouched like a tiger and rounded the hairpin corner of the mountain road with a ready reserve of torque, bending back out to the straightaway it was ready to pounce and so was Andy.  Sometimes you can’t tell a book by it’s cover, especially if that book is a person, but Andy Flatters was exactly the type of sleaze ball you would expect him to be, he knew it, he owned it.

It’d been twenty years since he’d been home to Colorado and the same reasons that made him leave were now drawing him back.  Andy ran the plan over again in his mind, Boulder was filled with a never-ending stream of shit-head dropouts.  A long standing romanticism surrounded the city, maybe it was the childhood memories of Mork & Mindy, maybe it was the mountains.  Whatever it was, Boulder was somehow thought of being “the” place to be.  Fact was, the local economy could only support a limited number of unskilled laborers, if you weren’t a Trustafarian, you were living on borrowed time before you ran out of money, sold your Cd’s and ran back home with your tail between your legs.

Considering the briefcase filled with blank record contracts in the backseat, Andy imagined how he could almost literally attach one to a fishing line and troll the streets hooking these idiots by their hopes and dreams.  It would take him a while to rebuild his empire, in the meanwhile a consignment resale shop would do.  Still he hadn’t been here since the incident, and of all places he could be going, he found it amusing he was headed to band practice. 
As he left the highway, Andy checked his speed and slowed down.  Widows pass was prone to rock slides and other hazards.  The locals knew to respect the road, but every couple of years some tourist who fancied himself a race car driver would find the quickest way to the bottom of the canyon.  Strange, he saw something ahead. 

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