The Rock N' Roll Horror Zine

Motorbreath by Patrick Winters “Buncha’ girly-lookin’, shit-for-taste posers, man.” “Yeah, dude. Makes me wanna barf up my burritos.” Despite his words—and despite the disgusted look on his tanned crater-face—Reggie “The Reg” Mendoza took another bite of the bean burrito they’d picked up at the food truck earlier. He knew it would be hell on his bowels later on, but the flavor of those burritos was always too righteous to ignore. He scarfed down the last bite and tossed the wrapper up onto the dash, wiping his greasy hands on his Venom vest before setting them back to the wheel of his beat-up van. “Jesus, man! Would you look at that one!” Donald “Riffer” Stewart groaned from the passenger seat. He sported torn-up jeans and an Exodus tee, both of which were in need of serious washing. “He looks like fuckin’ Farrah Fawcett, for fuck’s sake!” The Reg scanned the crowd of people gathered across the street, tracking where Riffer’s finger was aimed. When he saw the dude in ...