I looked over at Barley and realized I couldn’t even push him out of the chopper if I wanted to because the lever was rammed up his sleeve. He was stuck tighter than an all-day sucker. Seeing as how his left leg was now dangling out of the chopper like a loose turd, the lever was the only thing holding him in his seat.
We dipped at such a sharp angle I saw everything sideways. I closed my eyes and held on, the whole while wishing I had taken up drinking in my short youth, because a good alcohol-induced black out was urgently called for. After I gathered my wits, I shoved Barley’s arm with my foot, which momentarily held us at altitude. But Barley’s weight on the lever hindered our lift.
I won’t say my life flashed in front of me, but Bubbylee sure did. His truck spewed gravel as he zigza
