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The exhaust pipe billowed out cumulonimbus clouds, obscuring everything in front of us. We could barely see, or breathe for that matter. Of all the times the air conditioner could choose to break down…  Overtaking this mechanical chimney on wheels was almost impossible, given the numerous curves on this winding mountainous road. In a sense, we were following the trail of tangible smoke ahead of us. The bus plodded on lopsidedly, swaying from side to side like a drunken sailor on a boat caught in a tempest. Occasionally, the exhaust would cough out a gunshot, much to our amusement.

WORD COUNT: 100

Friday Fictioneers is a meme by Madison Woods

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