I hold my left arm as straight and steady as I can against the force of the speed. My right hand sits at 2 o’clock on the steering wheel, guiding mí coché around the bend created by the Southern California hill. A lagoon leading out to the ocean remains glassy to the right. “Last Nite” from the Strokes emanates from the radio, reminding me of the debauchery and cause of this headache and fog I can’t seem to shake—gotta get in the ocean. The sun beams down from directly overhead, powerful through the compromised ozone layer. A mid-30s latina vixen pulls even speed with me to my left in her luxury SUV and acknowledges the surfer’s body I possess—her panties drip, drip at the sight and recognition that her husband isn’t nearly like this anymore. She speeds away. I pull my left hand inside the car and grasp the steering wheel with it as I extend my right hand straight up through the sunroof and brace it against the speed. I continue towards the sea with only blue sky in sight. Changes are afoot…

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