Finally, we made it!

Me and the bros have officially ran a successful food truck business in our hometown just 9 months after graduating from high school.

Customers lined up to order the best tacos and sweet aguas frescas. Majority of them were college students. Some of them were people we used to go to high school with. As they were in line complaining about how difficult their general ed courses are, we are making money by doing what we love, cooking and serving authentic Mexican food to everyone in college campuses.

Then one day, socal called our names. They wanted us to promote our businesses to colleges in LA and San Diego. Excited as we are my bros and I got ready that day. Food truck cleaned, utensils and food stored in the food truck kitchen in their place, car gas filled out, essentials needed for a road trip in our trunk, suitcases packed. We were all ready for takeoff. Well, almost.

Me and the bros got ready, usually wearing our typical outfits, the white t shirt, baggy jeans, and black kicks, with gold chains and diamond earrings, with our hair combed. We all hopped into our Nissan rouge, played my playlist consisting of a mix of corridos and rap, and I drove off, driving as safe on the freeways as we could. Bye Bay Area. Hello SoCal.

In the middle of the freeway it was a chill ride. Up until…

BOOM!

*CRASH*

*car and truck spins*

*CRASH* again

Shit! What in the fuck was that!?

I immediately stopped the vehicle and so did the rest of my bros.

We all fucking cried and panicked.

Luckily me and the bros were fine. We all had a whiplash and a few scabs, but the taco truck was not.

It was completely fucked up and destroyed.

Food and utensils were lying on the highway. The suitcases were open, and some of our things were also lying on the highway. Although me and the whole gang turned out fine in the car crash, the truck did not. The crash was still really bad.

Its time to find that asshole that crashed our car and the food truck.

Oh shit, ambulance and cops came. The asshole that crashed the car was taken to paramedics!?

Who the fuck cares!? That asshole still crashed our car and truck! That asshole ruined our small business! That asshole potentially ended our whole career!

We still have the right to confront the asshole and tell him “what the hell!”

Come on boys, let’s get ready to…

“Sorry, the other party is too traumatized to talk. We can’t let y’all see him.” said the sheriff.

I’m sorry what!?

He’s too traumatized to let us see him for the trauma he caused himself and all of us!? Fine, can we at least get his first and last name!?

“Sorry, that’s private information.” said the sheriff.

Me and the bros spent that whole damn night fucking furious and waiting for my parents to bring us home and take care of this whole car crash report.

Never imagined our road trip to promote our small business in SoCal would bring all of us some trauma, stress, anxiety, depression, grief, PTSD, and overthinking. Guess we’re just better off staying in the Bay Area, even though shit like this can happen anywhere.