by Jon Catron
She was a Tragic Engine. She ran her tears like a racing shifter, smooth and effortless; she slammed through them with wild abandon. She was a Machine; she burned me hot, guzzling me, breathing me deep, sucking me down by the fuming gallon. She was a four-banger, nailed to the floor, screaming wide open down the dirt road going south from Bronson. No rest stops, no destination, nothing but speed and gravel and a need to burn. Old men shake their heads as they pass the rusting husk of my love.
Jon Catron, who told us A Lie, enjoys caffeine and sugar and other health foods. He hopes to review "Ship of Ishtar" shortly.