A Day in the Life of Larry Nolan

3:00am. Wakes after usual 2.5 hours of sleep. Drops silently to the floor and assumes a crouch in the blackness. Checks perimeter for enemies. Throws on AMD-Discovery skinsuit.

3:08am. Eats bowl of shattered glass covered in motor oil for breakfast.

3:24am. Rides through the darkness to Oakland train station, pauses on the way to catch gangbanger's bullet in teeth, saves teenage crack ho. Wordlessly ties blubbering naked john to 880 billboard to face the morning traffic in shame.

3:36am. Straps himself to undercarriage of the Amtrak Zephyr for 8 hour ride to Reno. Feeds himself off dead bison scraped from tracks at 55mph.

2:01pm. Arrives in Reno. Rides through downtown with an ice cold shockwave of sheer righteous valor in his wake that sweeps through the needle-strewn alleys and gambler's lairs, causing evildoers to shudder uncontrollably.

2:15pm. Arrives at Tour de Nez bike race. Meets with teammates, claims he is not a closer and only hopes "to help out somehow".

2:30pm. Tour de Nez starts.

2:43pm. Becomes angry at the lack of opportunity thus far to inflict pain on himself or others (doesn't matter which), chases attacker into corkscrew, hits the pavement sideways at 30+ and friction-burns about a square foot of gnarled, scarred flesh from the entire right side of his body on the searing asphalt.

2:44pm. Allows himself to savor the feeling of salty sweat running across his open wounds, gets up. Rejoins field.

2:52pm. Makes break, begins slaving away for team.

3:18pm. While diving into corkscrew again, experiences flashback from Nam, mistakes blacktop heat waves for napalm detonations and instinctively dives, burns another square foot of gnarled, scarred flesh from the entire left side of his body on the searing asphalt.

3:19pm. Allows himself to savor the feeling of poisonous, molten asphalt mashed into his open wounds, then peels himself off pavement, grinning.

3:20pm. Rejoins lead group and crucifies himself for teammates.

3:30pm. Teammates win race.

3:32pm. Scoffs at medics' attempts to rub salve into wounds, instead grabs cheese grater from nearby picnickers and scrapes the black tar out of his roadrash while calmly recounting race story to speechless 9-year old fan.

3:35pm. Debriefs with teammates, allows paparazzi to snap a photo (below).

4:00pm. Straps himself to transaxle of big rig for ride back home.

11:08pm. Arrives East Bay. Cuts blubbering john off billboard with a scowl.

11:23pm. Home. Kisses sleeping brood goodnight, cuts tattered skinsuit from limbs. Uses hot coals to cauterize wounds, then stretches out on the wooden plank he calls a bed to regenerate broken cells, rebuild strength, and attack again tomorrow.

Just another F-Truk day.