The Dukes of Fryup

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January 20, 2011 by markstani

Sadie wore a hacked-up denim mini and reckoned she was the dead-set double of Daisy Duke. With Kenny claiming to be Bo on account of his blue checkered shirt and streak-blond hair, I guess they were a natural fit. It didn’t matter it was bullshit. Kenny’s hair was cropped to the neck and dirt-track brown. It was barely any darker than mine. But Kenny found the car, and that’s all that counted.
We dove in and out of those car windows. We surfed the bonnet and starfished on the roof, shooting up Sheriff Roscoe behind. Sadie slunk out over the back seat and giggled till she said she might pee. Kenny clambered over and had his turn while I sat up front wrenching the wheel, flicking eyes at the rear-view mirror. We were barely thirteen.
Till one time I clicked down the handbrake and slid out the window. I told them, ‘we’re moving.’ Kenny muffled back, ‘yee-hah.’ The car bullet-sped down the bank. I saw their heads bob up too late, a pink shoulder. Sadie’s face flicked round, flashed those Daisy Duke eyes. It reached the main road and thumped a haybale truck side-on. I saw Kenny do the best dive out he ever did. That moment, his checkered shirt winged open and his hair lit gold in sun glare, he was Bo right enough. Yeah, I had to hand him that.

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