Fiction / Tuesday, April 7th, 2009

In front of him wrapped around the black leather wheel sits his hand,

Turning the wheel, bringing the right hand down to the shifter, pushing the button and thrusting it forward.

The beach was full of college students much the same way a retirement home was full of old people.

Are you going to avoid those people? They are not capable of moving as fast as we are.

Where we’re going, we don’t need road.

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