[@Sanity43217]

[h3]-John Mercer-[/h3]


	Suddenly, John heard a loud bang erupt over his music, followed by the telltale thumping of a blown-out tire slowly being shredded against the pavement.  "What the hell?"  He cursed, slamming on his brakes and grimacing in disbelief at the disheartening view in his left side mirror.  He got out muttering to himself and rubbing the back of his head, just as a sharp '77 Trans Am was subtly creeping by his now disabled pickup.  "Hey!  Hey!"  John tried to flag the driver down, but to no avail did they see him, let alone acknowledge he was there.  "Well, that's just plain rude, dammit!"  He huffed, throwing his hands up.  Some day this was turning out to be he thought, a sour look muddling his rugged face.

	Trudging toward the back of his truck, John knelt in the street to inspect the damage.  It was a blowout alright, and a nasty one at that.  Nearly half of the tire was laying in pieces, the bare metal rim jutting from the chasm of shredded rubber.  John sighed gruffly and shook his head.  Guess he was gonna be a little late getting back to the ranch.