The trooper's eyes were the last I saw. Directly. They rolled back in his head as he kissed my fist.
The point of no return ran by me, looked back and winked.
Judging, mocking, taunting.
I took the car, took the bait, may as well have sealed my fate.
So I drove. And then I drove. That '97 Impala and me. What an odd couple we made. The lawless and the lawbringer.
The tires hugged those Kentucky hills, or were they mountains? Hills hug back, mountains just shrug. This drive kinda shrugged.
Out of indifference, or indignance.
And so I drove that mother fucker into the ground. The unforgiving ground. The only option was to walk from here. One can take sanctuary in these mountain towns. They felt like mountain towns to me. Maybe they were hills.
The weathered sign read Maysville, I think. The one "L" shrugged, as if not loved enough. Did it say Maysville, or had the sign become self-aware?