Saturday, August 16, 2008
He's probably too drunk to drive. With icy roads barely salted, an early winter makes travel for the responsible dangerous. And Lex is a lot of things, but no one's ever accused him of being a responsible driver.
Yes, after-school special time, or maybe something his nanny should have banged into him between boarding schools, but he's never followed the entire 'just say no' concept very well. It's always been 'yes' and always 'more' and always now.
Lex is a big fan of more.
More attention, more love, more sex, more drugs, more money, more power, more everything. With a bank account that crosses eleven digits and sole control of the largest corporation in America, the word 'more' is starting to take on new and interesting dimensions, because he's twenty-six and there's nothing nothing he hasn't done once and better. He's only twenty-six, and he's achieved the one and only thing his father ever taught him how to want.
The high won't last. Highs never do. Even the mostly-legal kind.
So. Driving. Lamborghini, a car that's almost as good as a fuck--better if he counts the socialites he's been fucking recently. He's been an adrenaline junkie from birth if the few stories he remembers of his early childhood are anywhere close to accurate, but the last thing that scared him was heights. Six months playing at skydiving removed that pretty damn thoroughly. One-fifty in a forty mile per hour zone is pretty much something he can sneeze at--oh, but that was five seconds ago. He passed into one eighty when he made that last exit.
Wow. That's not too bad for a major highway at two in the morning.
Cars are good though. God knows, he has enough of them. Fifty at last count, and he tries to add them up--Ferraris and Porsches and Jaguars and the Aston from Smallville, the pretty little Roadster he remembers buying during a particularly difficult takeover, and the Mercedes that had to have been some kind of lost bet, because he can't stand to drive it. Not--quite the right feeling. Not like silk, not like sex, nothing like this, and it sure as fuck won't hit two hundred.
Two hundred. Jesus.
He's drunk, right. Focus, Lex.
......
just saw this somewhere.
brilliant opening line: He's probably too drunk to drive.
ILOVEWORDS,
hazel
Labels: love of words
& 8:26 PM
stuck in reverse ♥