My car smells like a running chainsaw. It's disgusting and unhealthy. The "check engine" light came on earlier in the evening but I simply covered it with a piece of the duct tape that patches the giant hole in the material on the ceiling. If I can no longer see the sign, the problem ceases to be.
We're in the back seat. Bonnie yanks off my hat and places her hand over the bloody stain on the bandage around my head.
"Does this hurt?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Bad?"
"Yes."
"How bad?"
"Very."
"Awwww, poor...
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Published on
November 04, 2009 11:23
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