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 |   a descent into poetry insanity |
| our car coughed today, going into ever more violent paroxysms and whines and unusual engine noises, unaccompanied by any burnt smells or wild billows of black and white smoke pouring out of the nether spaces, which would indicate the kind of imminent explosion that necessitate immediate shut down. no, our car coughed gently, then insistently, then violently, then refused to catch, the RPM indicator waving in a last gasp of possibility before it died, and we pulled over and turned the key a dozen times before concluding that we needed a tow and a lift, and possibly a Ouija board to figure out how much it will take to shock it back to life. April 18—Question something |
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