Turning Over a New Leaf

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our final destination, downtown Paradise City. It is currently 85 degrees, and sunny. Have a nice stay in Paradise and thank you for choosing Amtrak." The engineer announced. Greg's spirits soared. He was finally in Paradise City, the location of his new job. He had only answered a classified ad a week ago, and the next day he was on an eastbound train. He got his bags from the overhead storage rack and disembarked the train. Carefully, Greg made his way to street level. Surprisingly, the only people there were the other passengers of the train, no citizens. Feeling a little uneasy, he set off towards the DMV to get his new license. In his research, he found that to live in Paradise, he must get a special license. This license can also be upgraded He entered the large lobby of the DMV, with ques for every level license. Greg went through the empty que for his learners permit, although every other que was filled. He approached the woman behind the counter, and greeted her.

"Hello, welcome to Paradise City. May I see proof of identification and your previous drivers license?"

Greg dug through his overstuffed wallet and dug out his I.D. card and drivers license. He handed them over to the woman, and she looked over them. She handed them back, typing some information into her computer.

"OK, we should have your-"

She was interrupted by a four-door sedan shattering through the store front at over one hundred miles per hour. Greg dove to the floor as twisted body panels and shatterd glass flew. The driver kicked the door three times before the hinges gave out and the dented door fell to the ground with a crunch. Popping out of his car as if nothing had happened, the driver called out,

"I'm finally getting my Elite License!"

Only when the other people began to clap and cheer did Greg realize he was the only guy with his face in the dirt. He staggered to his feet and turned to the counter.

"You're not going to do anything about him?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's the way everybody in Paradise drives, hon. Have fun out there." She handed him his learners permit and told him to go to 5534 Manners Avenue. As he began to walk away, another driver who was at the DMV during the crash approached him.

"Hey, hold on there." the man said, "She gave you the wrong address."

"Really?"

"Yea. She's sending you to the junkyard across town. It will take you all day to get there by foot."

"Wait," Greg interrupted, "she was sending me to a junkyard?"

"You gotta start somewhere."

Greg continued talking to the man, learning all about the cities many opportunities. Finally, they came to the parking lot. A slender, deep red sports car gleamed in the afternoon sun. The sharp edges caught the sun the most, and the paint reflected the two of them.

"You want a ride to the junkyard?" The man offered, extending his hand towards the wonderful car.

Greg just gave a worried and confused look. The man understood and explained.

"Hey, when you took that dive in the DMV, you reminded me of myself when I first arrived in Paradise. I was waiting for my Learners Permit, when out of the blue some guy takes his three-ton toaster and..."

"'Three-ton toaster'?" Greg interrupted again, "What's a 'toaster' around here?"

"It means 'an Inferno Van'. A cargo van, really. Anyways, this guy ploughed his toaster through the front window, and before I knew it, I was on the floor. Everyone else was on their feet, brushing away the glass as if it was a daily occurrence."

"So, that wasn't the first time that's happened?"

"If I had a dollar for every time a driver sent their car through that window, I wouldn't need a job."

Greg took the meaning of this seriously.

"Excuse me sir..."

"Please, call me Ashton."

"Okay, Ashton, if these people drive their cars like that, why doesn't the police department do anything about it?"

Ashton wasted no time with his reply.

"There are just too many to care about! Besides, the whole department is made up of drivers that drive that way when they're off. Hey, you've got to get to that junkyard. Do you want a lift, uh..."

"Greg. And yes, I would like a ride to the junkyard."

The doors swung smoothly and silently up, revealing the black leather interior. Greg slid in, and pulled the door closed as Ashton dropped into the drivers seat. Greg couldn't help but stare at the lavish interior.

"You like it, Greg?"

"Yea."

"Well, you might have to wait awhile before you get this beauty. You can only get it after getting your B License."

"What's the make and model?"

"It's the Jansen P12."

Ashton twisted the key in the ignition, and the starter whined before the V8 engine roared to life. Jamming the transmission into reverse, Ashton took off down King Avenue with Greg protesting all the way.

"Oh, all right Greg." Ashton said teasingly. As he bore down on First Street, he applied the emergency brake as he spun the steering wheel to the right. Obediently, the P12's front end swung to the left 180 degrees until it was facing the right direction. Drifting around the corner of King and Harber, Ashton casually alternated between the brake and accelerator as Greg clung onto the door for dear life. Ashton then made a sudden left into a side alleyway, and activated the nitrous system. The P12 launched forward with it's new found speed, straight for a set of gaps. Greg was now thinking that Ashton wanted to kill them both as all four of the P12's tires soared off the pavement before slamming back down to earth on the other side. The second jump felt just as bad as the first to Greg, but Ashton liked the feeling. They came out of the alley onto Manners Avenue, while Ashton continued to empty the nitrous tanks. Weaving in and out of traffic, the P12 handled perfectly, but Greg didn't notice. He was focused on the blurred forms of cars racing at him at over one hundred miles per hour. Finally, Ashton pulled the emergency brake one last time as they slid into a parking space at the Manners Ave. junkyard.

"Twenty-four point six five eight, a new personal best, I might add." Ashton announced proudly as he stepped out of the P12.

Greg was still in shock well after the car had stopped. Eventually, he staggered out and followed Ashton into the junkyard office.

"I was told to come here." Greg said as he handed the burly man the DMV slip.

"Whoa," the man said as he read the time stamp, "your buddy's one hell of a driver."

"Look, is this where I get my car?"

"You catch on quick. Come out in the yard, we've got a Calvary for you."

The center of the junkyard was barren except for the tire tracks criss-crossing everywhere. Piles of crushed cars lined the outer fence, as a large crane dominated the airspace above.

"Hey, Willard." The man called through his two-way radio, "bring out that Calvary we got yesterday."

The crane's diesel engine coughed and sputtered to life as the boom lazily swung towards the back of the yard. The giant magnet slowly lowered, silhouetted by the late sun. Greg's anticipation grew when he heard the soft click of the magnet connecting to the roof of the car. The car now began to rise slowly, it's silhouette looked perfect. Then the crane stopped, and Greg expected a slow and graceful decent, but it never came. With another soft click, the car released from the magnet and began it's short fall to earth. Landing with a mix of a crunch and a bang, the ruined car rocked on it's weathered suspension.

The fenders almost had no paint left on them, the headlights were blown out, and all of the glass was either cracked or missing.

"What a piece of shit!" Greg exclaimed.

"Yea," the junkyard owner retorted, handing Greg the keys, "and it's all yours."