Months passed. Gorilla piloted his wheels to all four corners of the country, carting pallets of shrink-wrapped imported crap from warehouse to warehouse. This was apparently very important for the economy, but the whole process was meaningless to Gorilla. He didn't lose any sleep over it. So long as he was paid well for his labour and his time, he was happy enough.
Carlos's band began to attract some local popularity and critical acclaim. A record label had been sniffing around. Their rep thought some of their songs were good enough for a demo recording. The label not only funded the demo, but they organised some gigs in bigger venues so the band could showcase their material to a wider audience. A small ten-date tour of the south-east was organised, with the final, biggest gig scheduled for Atlanta. And it was on the date of their final gig that Gorilla unexpectedly found himself stuck in Atlanta following a logistics fuck-up.
Gorilla hadn't thought about Carlos since they fucked. He got more than enough anonymous mancunt on the road, and Carlos was one hole in a queue of hole. On the other hand, to his own surprise and perhaps to his own shame and embarrassment, Carlos often fantasised about Gorilla. From time to time, he lay in bed at night, ready for sleep, and his cock would twitch at the thought of his face buried in Gorilla's steamy, unwashed crotch. His dick would grow thinking about tonguing Gorilla's rough, sweaty asscrack, and he'd often cum all over himself as he recalled the abrasive feeling of Gorilla's cock in his ass.
It was one night only, he knew their paths would never cross again, but it was tattooed onto his brain. The experience gave Carlos the never-ending gift of something hot to masturbate to.
Gorilla was approaching Atlanta when his phone rang. It was the logistics team. He was tired. He was tempted to press the red button, but he pressed the green.
Gorilla: "Yeah, what's up?"
Logistics: "Hey, man, how's things?"
Gorilla: "OK, just on my way into Atlanta."
Logistics: "Yeah, we know, we can see you on our screen. Location tracking."
Gorilla: "Yeah... so... why are you calling?"
Logistics: "Because something's gone wrong. There's been a timing fuck-up with the freight."
Gorilla: "I don't know what you mean."
Logistics: "You're scheduled to drop a load tonight in Atlanta, right?"
Gorilla: "Hope so. A big one. And I'm planning to unload the rig, too."
Logistics didn't get his meaning. Or, if they did, they ignored it. "The delivery you're scheduled to cart from Atlanta to Miami won't arrive by tomorrow. It'll arrive the day after. We need you to stay overnight in Atlanta to wait for it."
Gorilla grunted. "Fuck. You want me to spend an idle day in Atlanta?"
"Yes," replied Logistics.
"You gonna pay me for my time?" asked Gorilla.
"We have no choice," said the Logistics team member.
Gorilla agreed. "OK. How does this work?"
"The warehouse is expecting you to arrive soon to unload. Do that, and then head across town to check in at the Sleep Inn. They know you're coming. It's already taken care of, and you've got two nights there. You can park your rig in the vacant lot across the road. You're free to do whatever you want to do tomorrow, and we're paying you for the inconvenience."
Sweet deal, given the circumstances -- especially given it'd all been pre-planned for him. "Thanks for letting me know." He signed off and did as instructed.
He arrived at the Sleep Inn and parked his 42 wheels across the road. Collecting his overnight bag, he crossed the street and checked in. The establishment was unkempt, cheap and sleazy, but it'd do. He signed the check-in document and accepted the key.
He wasn't especially hungry. Those no-doze pills might keep him awake, but they also killed his appetite. He walked up the stairs to the first floor. Flopping onto the bed, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Nothing worth watching. They say we have the world at our fingertips, but Gorilla's fingertips didn't ask for urgent breaking news from the Japanese stock exchange, or coverage of a nail-biting lawn bowls tournament currently taking place in fucking Scotland.
He was restless. 'Fuck this shit,' he thought to himself. He switched the TV off and hurled the remote at it. 'Been a long day. I need a beer.' He took a quick shower, changed clothes, and made sure to bring his denim jacket.
He walked back down to the ground floor and headed into the street. Truckers often don't get to experience the cities they visit. Their working lives are about moving things from one location to another, but they rarely get the chance to walk around the locations they visit. Tonight was a rarity for Gorilla. He'd been to Atlanta dozens of times before, but each time had been an overnight stop. Arrive late, eat dinner, get some shuteye, depart early. He'd never experienced the city.
He crossed the road and found a bar. He sat on a stool and ordered a beer. Looking around the room, he quickly realised this wasn't his type of establishment. Pretty young things of all possible genders; powdered, lip-sticked and made-up to the bejesus. It felt like soft candy, and he wanted something rawer than this. He didn't know the city, but his phone did. He searched for 'things to do in Atlanta tonight' and discovered there was a rock show about six blocks away that sounded interesting. The name of the band made him laugh out loud (you'll find out what it is in a minute), and he bought a ticket to the show just because of the name. He finished his beer and made his way to the venue.
*
Carlos and his bandmates were backstage in their dressing room, preparing to go on stage. They could hear the sub-bass of the support act rocking out, and they knew the crowd was being whipped into a frenzy. Carlos's drummer was sitting in a corner of the room, quietly tapping his drumsticks on his thighs and knees in mental preparation for his performance. The bass player was pacing the room in nervousness, and the rhythm guitarist was in the bathroom taking his usual pre-gig shit. Everything was as expected.
The support act finished. Carlos heard their singer announce "Hey, you guys fucking rock, Atlanta! Hope you liked our set, and come see us again some time. But stick around, the best is yet to come! Fuckin' A2M!"
The house lights came on, and the crowd dispersed for twenty minutes or so. Some went to the bar in search of beer, some went outside in search of drugs, others went to the bathroom.
Gorilla arrived at the gig just as the support act wrapped up. He showed the e-ticket on his phone to security. There was a beep. He walked into the venue.
Inside, he sidled up to the bar, and purchased two straight double vodkas on ice -- one for each hand. He flashed the logistics company's credit card. Fuck 'em, they can pay for his night out. He downed them both on the spot. He looked the bartender in the eye and immediately ordered two more. He took these two drinks with him and made his way toward the stage. He wouldn't be driving anywhere tomorrow. He wanted nothing more than to get smashed and have a good time.
Gorilla hoped the band was good. He was in the mood to rock. Miraculously, he'd almost made his way to the front barricade -- he was maybe two or three bodies back.
The lights dimmed and the main act took the stage.
*
