On The Bro'd
Every sentence of Jack Kerouac's On The Road, retold for bros.
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50 - Who Do You Play For?
The drivers had switched up front; the less-drunk brother was gunning the RV to the limit. The road changed too: humpy in the middle, with soft shoulders and a ditch on both sides about four feet deep, so that the RV bounced from once side of the road to other—miraculously only when there were no cars or shit coming the opposite way—and I thought we all might write our brobituaries that day. But they were epic drivers . How that RV flew through the Nebraska chode—the chode that sticks out over Colorado! And soon I realized I was for real over Colorado, though not for real in it, but looking southwest toward Denver itself a few hundred miles I away. I got stoked as fuck. We shotgunned some Natties. The great blazing stars came out, the far-receding sand hills got dim. I felt like Kurt Russell in Miracle when they win that fucking hockey game.
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