“Hey, Janine,” Russ yelled, “how ’bout dragging your roadkill athlete off our viewing highway!”
We were about to hose them down with soda when all hell broke loose outside the drive-in. The ground suddenly started to vibrate, and then a hollow, echoing sound drowned out Natalie Wood and everyone else on 34th Street. Above the road, an eerie cloud of dust was rising, illuminated by the neon light of the marquis. Despite the cold weather, the air smelled worse than rotten eggs.
A high-pitched squealing filled the night, and then a wall of enormous pigs emerged from the darkness into view. They looked rabid in the neon light, and maybe they were. All I know is they were running faster than I knew a hog could move. We all whooped and shouted as the bacon brigade herded past, crapping everywh
