“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jeff asked, shouting over the wind.
“Yeah, man!” Blaze (which he thought sounded better than Roger) yelled. “This’ll be killer promotion! Everyone who comes by on the road will see it. And look! There are, like, a hundred cars down there!”
Jeff looked. There were a lot of cars: racing blurs of wheels and windshields, shooting by just under the bridge. Their engines howled and the horns honked. He suspected some of those honks were directed at them.
They were clinging to the bridge, spray paint cans in hand. Ropes and harnesses held them up, borrowed from Blaze’s brother, who was under the impression they were using them for rock climbing.
“When they see this,” Blaze gloated, spraying on part of the second E, white paint getting everywhere, “they’ll all know us. The Pies! Greatest rock band in the world!”
With a mad laugh, Blaze raised a fist in celebration. His shoe slipped on the wet metal. He fell, the can of paint dropping from his hand.
He hung there in the harness, screaming, until rescue services arrived. They made the news. It was, as Blaze had predicted, excellent promotion.
Word Count: 198
This is for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction.