Behind the Clouds

 
 
 
"Behind the Clouds"
 
                                                           -by Peter Cooper
                                                         www.petercooper.biz
 
             As he looked out at the blue green arches of the Verrazzano Bridge from his bedroom window, Steve Vittola knew that this Friday night was going to be different than every other Friday night of all the Friday nights of his life so far. Steve Vittola is a large young man of twenty-two, with broad shoulders, tree trunks for legs, steely blue eyes and jet jet black hair. Though he is twenty-two, his face shows the battle scars and experience of many fights, and a man who loves controlled substances and alcohol.
             After eating a salisbury steak T.V. dinner, washing up, slashing on some aqua velva and taking his medication, he stepped out of his one bedroom apartment on 62nd St and 14th ave. This was not far from the W train, "which used to be the B train before the fucking cocksuckers blew up the World Trade Center" Steve thought to himself. He was meeting friends in the city tonight, and as he walked up the block to where his mint condition '77 Camaro was parked, Steve Vittola knew this night would be special. He was also well prepared for it. 
              As he came within sight of his car parked near the corner under a street light, the same feeling came over him as always when he looked at it. Complete relaxation and calm. That particular feeling intensified five times when he climbed behind the wheel and started it. The big 425 he had installed roared to life with ferocity. Steve looked at his watch ( Casio. He did not own a cell phone, because he thought anyone who did was a dependant fag) and it read 7:45 p.m. "If the traffic is usually the way it is, and it does not start to rain, I should be there at about 9:30 p.m." he thought to himself. This was when Steve was at his most calm and serene, without a care in the world. When he was alone with his own thoughts, behind the wheel of the car that he rebuilt from scrap.
               He put some King Diamond in the new CD player he had installed, shifted into drive and set out onto 14th ave, headed towards 86th St. He was on his way to pick up Rob Piletto before heading into Manhattan. Rob was the kind of guy who did not talk much, but when he did you listened. He perceived things very acutely and acurately, and then gave his oppinion of the situation in one or two sentences. The statements had lots of profundity and reality.