The Interview

A desk sat front and center in the room. On each side of the desk a chair sat, aimed towards the desk. He gestured to me and I took a seat, noting a security camera in the top corner. He took his chair as well.

He spoke. "Skip the foreplay. I'm not here to chase tail, alright? I want the facts, starting from the top, and you better have them."

I looked straight in his eyes and said. "Dale and Red were fooling around after class. Bout 5. Nothing serious, just some burnouts and racing down the desert stretch. Dale, he calls me up around 5:30 asking if I wanna join. Tell him my car's in the shop, because it is, so he decides he's gonna pick me up.

"By around 5:45 we're all cruising around, just looking for trouble, and Dale gets this funny idea like he's got a joke to make. He tells Red, the poor guy, that we're gonna play a game called chicken. Heard of it?"

He grimaced. "There's a new body bag in the showroom because of a practical joke?"

I said, "It's not that simple. I'm in the car with Dale and Red's in his own, and we're gunning towards each other and I start to panic. Really panic. I'm thinking I'm a goner, so I push open the door and I'm about to hop out when Dale yanks it left. Suddenly, I'm on the tarmac and Red's about to run me down so he swerves and the car just rolls and rolls and rolls."

"Sounds like Red took the crown."

He ushered me out of the station and I went home and grabbed my pillow and cried.