Jaes spun his keys in his hands, the metal rattling as it ran circles. He whistled in tune with his steps, forming a sort of funky blues rhythm. He liked blues. That centuries old slow paced music was something to appreciate, a real stop and smell the roses type of thing that these younger folk didn't appreciate. He slid into his rumbling truck, soft jazz already playing through the speakers in the back. These younger folk didn't appreciate a lot of things, sound especially. Like a good saxophone solo, or a good pair of tires running over hard asphalt. Gas engines like his were a thing of the past; he'd even gotten offers from museums, believe it or not! Now it was all about them liquid mercury engines, and floating cars, and loud fast music, and he didn't understand a lick of it.

Now, Jaes was a hard working man, just like his father. So when his boss told him, "Hey Jaes, go pick up that Cardillolac over on seventy third and a quarter street," Jaes said "On it boss," and went on his way. Didn't matter to him much when somebody flew past him on the latest and greatest, blasting the loudest and proudest, shouting something about oldest and slowest. He did his work, and did it good, whether it was towing some old abandoned beater or some rich kid's daddy's car.

The job had its moments though. He turned the corner, looking up at the big ol' hunk of metal docked next to a building in an alleyway, and immediately knew this would be one of them. He jumped out of the seat and into the bed. With a sigh, Jaes flicked a switch, and just like that his old girl was a floating hunk of metal too. Just as he was about to hook and hauling, some young blood came strutting down the street, hoot and hollering.

"Ay yo! Fuck you doing with my ride, grandpa?"

"You ain't make your payments, boy," Jaes replied. "It ain't your ride no more."

It was then that Jaes realized the mistake he had made. This boy wasn't a real boy. He was more machine than he was human. The cyborg stretched out the limbs he gave himself and clambered up both walls on either side, fire shooting out of the joints. He came up real close to Jaes, face to face with the old timer, so close Jaes would have seen the pores in his skin, if the boy had any.

"Say that again," the robot said.

"My bad," Jaes replied, moving some levers on his truck. "I seem to have made a mistake."

"God damned right you have. Fucking dumb ass."

"You ain't no boy," Jaes said, "You just a fancy little toaster."

The toaster pounded the wall like a boy throwing a tantrum. "I suggest you take your old ass and get the fuck out of here, before I give you an early cremation, you sack of wrinkly shit."

"I'm on my way," said Jaes, pushing a button on his truck. And it was true. He was indeed on his way, and so was the souped up rusted luxury car. The truck flew through the legs of the toaster, the car behind it knocking some of them off their grip. Jaes slung himself through the back window and into the front seat of the car. Behind him, he heard shouts and bursts of flame. In front, he heard the jazz grow louder as he turned up the dial. He turned another corner and merged back onto city streets, settling back into his seat, enjoying the soft sax and bass combo. His windows shattered as a red blast of light darted through the truck cab from the back.

"Shit," he said, reaching for his six gun in the center console.

Blaring loud music pulled up next to him, red bolts of light flying through his windows and into his doors. Jaes stuck his gun out, pumping two quick rounds out at the other flying hunk of metal.

"You're fucking dead old man!" the kid hanging out the window yelled, laser pistol pointing in Jaes' general direction. They were always so caught up in the speed and thrill. That loud music and fast car, it didn't do any favors for him, just made life harder, and his aim worse. The third ringing pop of the pistol turned the kid into a corpse. He heard cussing from the driver seat of that car and clicked his teeth. Always so caught up in the moment, he thought to himself as he ran a light and dove the car into an underground garage. It's always got to be better, faster, louder, something new and exciting. They never take the time to enjoy the little things, like having a stable job, the smell of gunpowder, or a good saxophone solo. Sure, the work wasn't always easy, but Jaes was a hard working man. He got it done, and he got it done good.

I'm very bad at titles. Also, my contributions thus far to this community may imply that I'm a primarily a cyberpunk author, which is not the case.