It was 30 years ago, almost to the day. I was an 18 year old tough guy
working a summer job to make some book money for college. I was working the
7AM-3PM shift at a factory called Strick Trailer. An August storm, born of
high heat and humidity, was upon us. A co-worker had ridden his Harley
motorcycle to the factory that morning, but his wife, concerned for his
safety, had driven the 60 miles from their home at the Jersey Shore to pick
up him and his bike with their truck.
Ah, irony. At 3:05, as we ran to our cars to avoid the drenching, I saw him
loading his bike on the truck, when a flash was seen and a boom was heard,
so loud that all the War Vets instinctively dropped to the asphalt. It took
a second or two before I heard the screams of his wife. I ran over to the
truck to help, as did a few others.
I'm no doctor, but this man was dead dead dead. His eyes looked like big
fried eggs. He smelled like a cross between burning chemicals and roast
beef. His hair and his clothes were smoking. His bike was charred, as was
the back of his truck.
The ambulance showed up and took him away. I made my way across Rt 1 to a
go-go bar known for serving minors. I drank heavily and played pool, vaguely
aware that naked girls were smiling at me for dollars. I looked at their
bare breasts and saw only his big fried egg eyes. Somehow I got home, puked
in the driveway, slept out back in a lawn chair and woke up in time for work
the next morning.
Scout

"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...
Scout wrote:

well, from what I've seen, it's ugly but quick.
Scout

All right, I'll bite. Who was it, where, when, how, aftermath,
who cleaned up? SPare us none of the crusty crispy details.
--
Flying Tadpole

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