stupid little car
I haven't paid taxes in years. In fact, I've claimed back taxes on things that weren't even true. Recently I was audited and the lady asked me a bunch of questions about my bank account and I didn't know what to do. I just shrugged and said "the universe has always provided for me, namaste" and she said "you can't get tax relief on a Playstation 5, this doesn't look good."
I smiled, and looked out the window at some geese passing by.
But now they're coming for me. Not the geese, but the fucking Queen of England's government. Thousands of pounds of cash that I owe to that wasteman family. Soon they will come and take away all the gifts the universe has bestowed upon me. All my golden goblets I bought from QVC that I thought would make me look cool and majestic, paid for with a credit card that I obtained by telling the bank what they wanted to hear.
Seriously, how is this my fault? You're telling me that I've managed to charm your saleswoman for more credit, and I abused it, and now it's my fault? Not that idiot woman's fault for being poorly trained?
So I'm going to the coast. I'm getting into my car, and I'm driving the two hours it takes until the land gives way to the ocean, until this road ends and a new road opens up. A place where people drop off giant hoagie sandwiches to my door every lunch hour because they love me, where every dog's bark is a love song, and where the extensive tabs I have run up in every bar in town cannot follow me. I feel like I have so much more to give before I transition from this endless comedy.
What about my DREAMS?
I'm yelling this to myself in my head as I start prepping my car for the journey. Pacing the living room, asking how I'm going to pull this off.
What do I need? Food - Done. I left a bug out bag in my garage for just this occasion, a cobwebbed damp encrusted backpack in the corner behind the car. The backpack is buggered, but I pull a rubber sealed american MRE out of it, so its not all bad. Right? One day's rations for my travels, I think.
I grab a bottle of cooking wine and put it in the bag. Right now, everything is just the next 24 hours. Beyond that... well, there just ain't.
I start savouring the smell of things as I prepare, knowing these experiences to be absolute. I see my diesel lawn mower and power it up one last time, just to savour its energy, its command over spring, that smell of me holding back god.
It's time to go.
I can hear it like a siren's call. The ocean beckons me forward, telling me that it's okay to drive into its embrace.
The moon watches us as I crest the hill overlooking the ocean, her wisdom shining a sabre of light towards me. I like to think she's guiding me as I drive over the cliff, a deal I made long ago between two gods coming to its end.
The ground gives way. Gravity and the universe take over. I stare through my windscreen at the full moon, wondering if this is how astronauts feel.
• 50% pre-shrunk cotton, 50% polyester
• Fabric weight: 8.0 oz/yd² (271.25 g/m²)
• Air-jet spun yarn with a soft feel and reduced pilling
• Double-lined hood with matching drawcord
• Quarter-turned body to avoid crease down the middle
• 1 × 1 athletic rib-knit cuffs and waistband with spandex
• Front pouch pocket