The road rushes past in a blur, headlights still on low. The thrum of the engine roaring into fifth gear, and the harsh pounding of rain as the blacktop flies by.
Running is always easy on nights like this one. On a night when the rain pounds away memories that float just on the surface like oil and dance like demons in the fog of the hot night air.
Swerving corners and switching gears can always take away the pain because it’s sort of hard to focus on memories and pain when navigating on the slick pavement.
Heart beating in time with the rain, maybe the song blaring in ungodly decibels from the speakers, who knows anymore. It’s all background noise as far as anyone else is concerned.
Breathing is oddly calm, not rushed in a panic as the next curve comes into view. The yellow road sign says 45 but the speedometer says 70, no braking, no letting off the gas, just lean into the curve.
Black paint fades and blends into the night surrounding it. Only the headlights illuminate anything. Green foliage on newly bloomed trees, but even the new life has an oddly dead feel. Something that gives the shiver up the spine. The cold breath of air raising the hair on the back of the neck.
The world has shrunken to what little space is illuminated in the lowbeams.
Another curve, a hard pull on the wheel, and the bass of the song raise the heartbeat to all time highs as the adrenaline kicks in.
It’s the thrill of getting caught, of cheating death, of having the power of something completely under your control and never knowing when it might slip away from your grip.
It’s burnin’ the blacktop.
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