The Lady In The Mercedes
Prose poem
Just look at her… pristine powder-white coat, you can see the future in that spit-shine finish. Blue twenty-twos on her racing-grade shoes and that body; long. full. sweeping. stylised lines carved by the spatula of Michaelangelo himself —
It’s v-eight supercharged, strictly electric, a fully autonomous super intelligent, super self-conscious, supercomputer on wheels. You know the ones. She can reverse parallel park in five point four seconds, flat, and steer you clear of an awkward chat with the Mrs. in under two –
Playing Tom Petty — Runnin’ Down a Dream
I think Tom Petty was one of the greatest singer-songwriters of his generation, he just came after so many other great musicians, you know?
Don’t change the subject, David.
You’re on your own now, says the Lady in the Mercedes.
Power Pack Critical – Battery Error— Check Exterior Exhaust Luminaire.
Really, an exhaust light? I didn’t know this had under-glow. I know I need to get home or buy new underwear, or get vaccinated so I can go see my grandma. How did we get here? Too late I’m already in —
Yeah, I’ll have a Happy Meal, diet coke for the drink, aaaaand a double chocolate sundae, with extra fudge, you sure you don’t want…
