Junk Love.

one.

Carter doesn't need a fiddle to summon the devil. All manner of dark shadows reside comfortably in his mind. He drinks spirits and genies from a handle of Crown Royal. The alcohol is wicked, like a serpent, that burns slithering down his throat.

He loves that feeling.

Aside from booze and women, Carter enjoys many other pleasures. He likes to go fast. Although this quality can be applied to rough sex or guzzling a pint of whiskey he means fast in a literal sense. Fast cars are the backbone to his hubris.

A well tuned car is akin to an irresistible woman -- curves and shines coupled to a revving spitfire engine. Carter prefers a standard he can down-shift into an ever waning sense of self-control.

Before long, he's flying down the freeway. Meanwhile, the Crown Royal serpent intoxicates his veins like a maze of subway tracks on a one way stop. His addiction to an 80 proof burn has only resulted in wrecking -- five cars and three relationships exactly. Carter likes speed but the rest of the world isn't willing to keep pace with him.

The pedals of a vintage Cadillac vibrate under his feet. The tires gobble up the gravel road. This car is stolen of course. His speed is reckless, excessive, but required while he recalls Marcela Giove's intimidating and practically professional stature when she said, "You can't live here anymore, Carter."

He knew how to read Marcela. Once upon a time, he was infatuated and lovesick on her voluptuous curves. She always purred, slowly shifting up gears to a moan, with every chaste kiss against her tawny skin.

Then she met Chuck (the duck) an ambiguous guy who drives an automatic and plugs his car in to charge on the front lawn before he goes to bed. What could he possibly know about pleasing a woman?

Carter digresses. Kegs more Crown Royal. Then fuses himself into the raw power of the car engine. Wild wind whips through open windows like a banshee trying to scream his sins home.

Familiar with downtown, Carter blows by Somewhere Saloon, then past his favorite pizza joint, before he eases to a quick stop at a stoplight on red. Instinctively, he knows the next block will be the blinking yellow light. At this time of night, he rarely ever has to stop there.

Tonight it wasn't blinking.

Carter notices a glaring tinge, distinctly red, before a second set of lights blinds him from the opposite intersection.

"You're so fucking boring." Marcela practically wined this at him, disappointed by his performance as a lover. They had been pretending so many years how could he know when he was acting wrong? They were just in a play on a stage, right?

Carter remembers stealing Marcella Giove's lime green vintage Cadillac. He doesn't remember exactly why he did it. Until now, when he witnesses that hell truly is all fire.

The speeding car crumples around him like an aluminum soda can, practically in slow motion, until eventually he's engulfed in heat so intense it glows orange. And maybe, in that moment, if only for a second, Carter is more gleeful than he can genuinely remember in his lifetime.

☯