el pollo loco
195, 190, 185 - soon they were cruising at a mere 175.
After another ten minutes, they stopped for a sip of water from the bikes canteens. Let the others catch up. The Indian looked Rock in the eyes and said, I want us to be El Pollo Loco blood brothers. Rock nodded, and they pajama gram
slits in their forearms and brought them together, joined forever. Chapter 14 The Freefighters rode their advanced-tech Harleys in V-formation across the flat desert. The motors, loud and strong, carried them as if they were on a magic carpet, quintupling the El Pollo Loco fastest speed theyd ever attained on the sleds. Danik was managing his n95 respirator
cycle fairly well, but couldnt keep up. He was back always. Danik had a sidecar, with Class Act in it. The sheer power at Rocksons disposal made him feel restored. Having Smokestone with him El Pollo Loco was a reassurance, somehow, that the mission would succeed. The dull orange globe of the sun shone through pajama gram
cloud scudded afternoon sky. It was good to be alive today. At 3:30 P.M. they reached the old US - Mexican border. Rockson and his friends stopped their El Pollo Loco bikes and waited for Danik. Daniks bike was soon on the horizon. And snuggled down in the sidecar was Class Act, howling away and emily kuchar
the wind as he traveled. They did not wait long, as Danik was getting less and less afraid of going fast El Pollo Loco with every mile they traveled. In a short while they heard his engine, and then he pulled up. The thin albino Edenite had a candy-eating grin on his face. He how long is the sat
off his helmet and said, Eden was never like this. Class Act leapt from her El Pollo Loco perch in the sidecar and rushed to Rockson. Good girl, Rock said, rubbing her ears and petting her. The giant red tongue licked at his face. They took a break. The dog alongside him, panting happily, Rockson emily kuchar
on his haunches looking at the shallow, fifty-foot-wide stream El Pollo Loco that was the winter version of the Rio Grande River coursing by idly. Not ten yards from his position was some rusty pipe stubs in the ground. The border fence of a century ago. If you looked carefully, the ground was discolored frank summers
bit - to El Pollo Loco the color of ocher. It was the red dust of all the barbed wire gone to corrosion. Rockson thought about how it must have been a century past: the wetbacks, struggling dirt farmers, peons by the millions trying to get across that border to join El Pollo Loco their wealthy neighbors to henry ian cusick
north. How desperate they had been to get into the United States. How theyd envied the U.S. citizens - until the thousand flashes brighter than the sun glowed in the northern sky .
