"This is taking forever!"
Larry peered over the dashboard to check if traffic had moved.
Nope. That made the wait in the direct sunlight the wide front windows of the bus provided him sixteen minutes long. He slouched back into his seat and unbuckled himself. "This is fuckin' ridiculous. I'm gonna get a sunburn before we make it to Pittsburgh."
"You'll turn red!" Phil chimed in, not realizing that such a thing might offend a Native American like Larry. Fortunately, Larry's good nature...as well as the heat stopped him from letting Phil's careless words bother him.
"S'not like the public'll allow us to be late for our own show," Robby said. He was sitting on the bus's couch, flipping through the entertainment section of the day's newspaper with one hand. The fingers on his left and dominant hand were gripping the armrest very tightly.
Larry frowned at Robby's lack of excitement. He flipped a switch which turned the bus's fan on high and pulled his fingers up through his sleek black hair when the cool air hit his face. "I wanted a chance to actually drive this thing," he said to the drummer.
"You were driving, earlier."
Larry turned around to see who had left the smart comment. Phil was on the top bunk of the beds, head in his hands, staring back. "...What?"
"What are you tryna say? I don't drive safely enough for you? Well it's not like I ever get the change to drive anymore. I can hardly make it out the door without having some bitch try to get at me. I'm rusty!"
An hour earlier, Larry was speeding down the Pennsylvania roads, yelling obscenities at other innocent drivers just for his own entertainment, and leaving skid marks. Twice. Both times, poor Robby fell off of the couch, which was why his nails were dug into the armrest. His red beret was across the bus on the counter beneath the cabinets. He stretched his arm out and snatched it up, pulling it down almost to his eyelids. The drummer was slightly claustrophobic, so he didn't seem too happy to be in the bus with the three other bandmates. He sat back down on the couch and scanned the comics section of the paper while he had the chance. Tim and Phil were also slightly shook up from Larry's reckless driving. Tim had a window open so that he could get some fresh air...and not keel over due to car sickness, and Phil was already laying down with his magazine to distract himself from the horror that was Larry's road skills.
"You tore up the roads earlier," Phil said, his expression flat. He then looked back down at his magazine.
"I'm getting practice," Larry argued. Though that was only half the story: his nicotine withdrawals were making him nearly hostile. "You guys would suck just as bad if you were driving, and you're gonna be. Especially you, Tim."
Tim raised his eyebrow at Larry. "I don't get road rage."
"It's called freedom! Freeeedom." Larry turned back around in his seat and stared at the road ahead. Still a red light, and still ten cars in front of the tour bus. Traffic was murder.
Robby jumped off the couch and onto the floor. "Spare the women and children! Take me!" He covered his head and whimpered. Larry peered back to see what had happened.
There was a runny yellow and white glob dripping down his bus's window.
Larry cursed very loudly, then shoved the steering wheel. "Uncool!" he jumped out of his seat and took the keys out of the ignition. "Nobody eggs my bus!"
"Sit down, Lars." Tim stood up and pushed Larry back down into his seat. "I got this."
Larry stared up at Tim. "But it's my bus! I need to be the one to do this."
"Don't waste your breath. You need to have all your teeth and a straight nose when you perform." Tim stepped down the bus's stairs, and the doors flung open. Larry watched as the bassist, in his dressy shirt and slacks, casually strolled out with his hands in his pockets.
"You guys suck!" shouted a man in a small compact car. The man was bald, fat, and by the impatient expression on his face, very late for work.
Tim peered over at him. "Go home!" he shouted at the bassist.
Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then walked over to the car, which was just as stuck in traffic as the bus was. He leaned over so that he was eye level with the man who had shouted at him. "Not having a very good day today, are we?" Tim asked him.
"You can't do shit to me! How about you back away off'a my car?" threatened the man, placing his hand on the door handle. "If you touch me, I'll sue you."
"I can sue you because you damaged my good friend's vehicle. Now do you want to settle this like men? Or-"
The fat man pushed his car door open, shoving Tim away. Tim pushed the door closed again, and luckily, it latched shut on the man's jacket, holding him very close to the opened window. Tim grabbed him by his shirt and glared at him. There was a quiet unified gasp from the folks in their cars behind them.
"You're gonna regret doing that," Tim tsked. "I'm gonna kick your ass."
Tim yanked the man by his collar half way out of the car and proceeded to beat him quite violently.
Larry and Phil's faces were glued to the bus window, watching the fight outside. Robby was still on the floor, hands still covering up his head. "What's going on out there?" he asked, peering back over his shoulder.
"Tim's probably gonna get another restraining order," Phil responded, sounding not at all shocked.
"This is gonna make our first show...interesting." Larry stepped away from the window and went back to the driver's seat to wait for traffic to move again.