Pit Bulls Be Pit Bulls

We were in the back of the pickup watching the stars while Agnes drove up front only from time to time looking in her rearview mirror to see if we were doing it.

We were doing it.

Eyes on the road. These scars are healing very, very slowly. The ones on my hand are screaming because if you could move your hand, the skin stretches either way. It means the wound is opening up again.

Usually, I would run to get on the dirt bike. To get out of this Dodge for another Dodge. I am dodging Dodges. All hell headed toward oblivion stuck down the throats of all your second selves, all the voices on all the planets and configuration of stars your tongue slinks a throat.