The toll booth gate won’t go up. Red dirt. Bright white LED lights expose hail pockmarks in my hood. Highway. Can’t tell if there’s something wrong with my car or it’s something in the road. A repetitive ‘fwip – fwip – fwip.’ Headlights cone out. I’ve got plenty of time. I’m lost under an ocean of time. Breathing slowly but steadily below the surface. Breathing softly but deeply on a long straw whose other end is inches above the waterline, catching mist off the waves.
I wanted a ridiculously cool look for my Hot Rod Stigmata single. Over the past couple years, I’ve been more realistic about my strengths and