FICTION
B-52: A Satirical Short Story
Bob came over with an interesting offer.
“I have a B-52 bomber. You want it?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You have to come get it tonight.”
“Where would I put it?” I asked.
Bob put a stack of papers in front of me.
“Sign here.”
I signed.
“Congratulations. It’s in hangar 47-C.”
“Where will I put it?” I repeated.
“Not my problem. Hope you enjoy it. Bye.”
* * * * *
I went to look at my place. I showed the people at the hangar my papers. They asked when I was going to take it from the hangar.
“When I have someplace to put it.”
“So long as you find someplace before midnight.”
“How am I supposed to find someplace before midnight?”
“Maybe you could fly it somewhere.”
“I don’t have a pilot’s license.”
“Maybe you could drive it somewhere.”
* * * * *
I started the plane. It roared. Everything vibrated. I pushed the sheel forward. It moved. The plane followed. We exited the hangar together. Sunlight filled the cockpit. The blacktop moved beneath me. I moved down the runway, making my day down it, until I found an entrance onto the road. It wouldn’t fit. I found…