• ChaosMaterialist [he/him]@hexbear.net
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          1 year ago

          Gripping the brakeshaft, idly thumbing the button, my phone buzzed.

          Text. Anton needs a pickup at the bar. Date must be bad.

          Why can’t I quit you? I think to myself, popping the brake. My hand slides up the gear, the head sliding into my palm as I jerk it into first. Screaming tires and red tail-light afterglow leave the only evidence of my presence.