Ratchets and straps (dire machine nsfw)

1

Buford huffed. Hot air vented loudly from his exhaust manifold. He had just checked his bank account and it read a depressing 2000. For most that wouldn't be a problem but Buford was out of a job and soon out of time. He was a beautiful black Cadillac hearse and as such he worked at a private morgue. Before he had work for the city and before that a chauffeur before he had the modifications to become a hearse. He was prim and proper. Always polite to the families in need and a bit shy. He had a heated garage to live in and kept to himself. To the outside observer he was the perfect machine to get the job done. But he was oh so lonely there were not many living machines in the world, much less the small city he lived in. The ones he did know were not interested in him, either having their own partners or a lack of internist in his more kinky nature. Buford had gotten desperate to the point it didn't matter anymore a body was a body dead or alive. He growled and rolled slowly down the street, heading home. It had been the stupid fucking receptionist. She had caught him one night, having his way. Though he pleaded and begged, she promptly told everyone who would listen. And the very next day he was fired and forced to pay restitution to the family. From that point on he was ostracized from the whole community and even parts of the city. To be fair it was his fault but he didn't really care and decided that he was going to do his own damn thing. Buford had always dreamed of becoming a hot rod. He had always been told no, that he wouldn't look good, he would lose his job and become a criminal. 

"Fuck those bitches" he muttered under his breath as he pulled on to his garage. He spent most of his money he had left on mods. A huge sturdy splitter and blower, hydraulics, color shifting paint, speakers and subs, a newer bigger beefier V8, side pipes, flames, lighting, custom leather interior, curtains and of course he had to have the words "Corpse Fucker" stenciled in black on his rear bumper. Buford didn't regret any of it. It was his body and his choice. He even had some interesting piercings on his nether regions. God it had been a chore to find a human would do it and even then it was well out of state. Buford sighed, the last thing he decided to do was sell his house and move. It was his last night staying here. He was headed for warmer weather and a city with a better car scene so perhaps he could find a job and purpose.

The garage, his house that he had saved for so many years before brought in a hefty 20000. It was sold privately through an agent to a nice bmw and Mazda couple. Oh if they had known who lived there. Buford was no longer worried about money, he would have enough to travel and buy a single vehicle garage instead of a double. He set out on a cold autumn morning, just before the sun had the chance to crest the mountains. He tore down the streets, honking, revving, and playing the loudest music possible ,with the sole intention to wake everyone. People yelled and threw things from their rattling windows. But Buford had not a care for what they thought and a grin appeared on his face as the city slowly disappeared behind him. He was headed southwest towards Nevada, Texas, New Mexico or maybe Arizona. He knew through research that it would be warmer, cheaper, and have more hot rods. He was in pursuit of a dream. One he had since his younger days. But life always has a way of fucking up dreams and that exactly what happened. For three whole days Buford drove through pouring rain, muck and mud. His beautiful paint splattered and crusty. He was just crossing into New Mexico. With a huge sigh of relief Buford booked a small hotel. 

"What's a pretty car like you doing here all covered in mud?" The receptionist asked, her accent thick and unrecognizable to Buford. Though it has some alluring tones to it. He flashed a grin "just looking for a good ol dirty time." He said his accent was a thick southern drawl. The receptionist giggled and handed him the key fob. "Well you have yourself a good night and breakfast ends at 12pm." Buford thanked her and drove down the parking lot. His room was comfortable and most important it was dry and warm. He settled down for the night dream of a nice long bath in the morning.