inter-state-course of route 69

The traffic jam on the I-15 locked like a Chinese Fingertrap, every vehicle aligned like some fucked-up map of stars over the skyline of a cemetery.  Hours before the Sun broke down crying, the Moon undressed its craters and tossed them on the floor of some sleazy galaxy avenue.

--

Drive faster.
"But this is as fast as I can go."  He spun the wheel the same way he spun his tongue in her mouth: recklessly -- too bad it's not spelt 'wrecklessly'.  He sped across the bedspread boulevard with one hand steering the car and one hand steering the course of his life off the road and into a fucking fire hydrant -- or some other explosive metaphor.

Oh, I want to feel a rush.  Like we used to.  Slam on the gas pedal, and don't stop for anyone.
He ran through the red light the same way he ran his fingers through her hair: absentmindedly -- too bad his subconscious never took roll call.  He pressed against the curb the same way his chest pressed against her spine: hard, fast, and furious -- at a speed of 55 moans per orgasm.

"That was a close call."
Shut up and drive.

Blood spilt from his skull the same way semen-flavoured lies spilt from her lips -- isn't it uncanny how close split and spilt look?  Nothing's off-game with a cracked skull or stale mattress.  I guess one could call it a 'head-on collision with Death', so long as 'head' is used in the right context...

I never said to fucking slow down.  Get your foot off the brakes.
"Yes, sorry, but navigating the curves of the street has lost its thrill."
Just shut up and drive me wild.

The windshield smashed and glass cut his throat the same way she cut his hair -- but never his strings.  He crashed into a semitruck the same way he crashed into her bones: five seconds of consciousness, then waking up in a hospital or a coffin -- if it's the former, they'll be back in another nine months; if it's the latter, well, let's hope no one crashed the funeral...

--

So the Sun doused itself with tears, the Moon (stricken with tumult) lit itself on fire, and the silhouette of an ambulance rained from the cataclysmic anomaly of a carcrash romance.