5-23-94 Half-cast introduction. (Beware Idiots.)

     A blasting flash, a sudden attack upon the scene entered from behind the hill, around that bend.  Loud and warily unbelievable a rolling powerball swooped in on those burnt out drivers and their crews.  Stares, and more stares:  It came roaring into their selves, and it roared as it left.  The mere size was no mere matter, though if it were alone among all the characteristics, it would matter little.  But to those who saw, who experienced, it was the largest of the large, a crushing power of infamy.

     And the colors.

     Like a mad-dog circus; like a dream from dark, bizarre, hilarious, electric Hell, The Dope Roach Coach flew through the brains scattered along the highway.  Alien landscape, a neon-green horizon dissipating within grey fog stretched beyond the eye, while here, burning through the empty space of a past, silly coating, rushed the spirit, the motion of the beast, the silhouette, black to brown, of a stagecoach sped with cockroaches in place of horses, and a massive roach-god holdin' the reins, flying the coop, and scaring its way to belief.  This was the flash for those to whom the thing was an obstacle, slow like a black hole.

     To those whom it was the pursuer, the one to overtake, and the one to abandon, an answer to everyone's question, electric orange and yellow, beat against the side.