I’m going through ink. The Cross is on its third cartridge. (I will admit, one I killed before actually starting, because the pen deserved to be making words and my hand deserved to be using the pen to do it.)
Today’s is the shortest. It starts like this:
Speed. Speed is important. If you can’t get there swiftly, you might as well not go.
Which is, of course, borne from my recent interest in fast cars. I blame the UK’s Top Gear. It’s entirely their fault. I now want a Morgan.
The story continues in an odd amalgamation of first and second person. I’m talking to you. You’re doing the driving. You’ve got a bluesy soundtrack. (I’m not specific, but I’m thinking probably ZZ Ward.
When it ends, you’re still racing down the highway, perhaps into a sunset, though of course there’s a promise at the end that’s probably not what you would’ve expected from me. Yet inevitable.