Sin City

It was quick like a knife.  Slick, and coated in precision.  It was meant to be greater than God, but not even the dealers could give it a nod.  It was fierce, so much so that it was feared.  Like a devil wrapped it bacon it was acidic and greasy.

The lights shone straight until the left one wobbled and winked out.  The radio was loud, the driver was drunk, but he drove straight.  He hit the curve at a cool ninety and let the bottle slide over to his awaiting hand.  He took a swig and hit the next gear.  The car lurched forward and topped out.

There was a flash as the lightning highlighted the nearly hidden cop car.  It whirled and flipped on its lights.  It shrieked and chased.  It was in a grove of trees that the two drivers finally came together.  The officer sloppily hopped out of his car and sprinted over to the old one ahead.  He used his steno as cover in the rain.  As soon he rapped upon the window there was a burst.  At the same time another bolt hit the tree in front of the winked out headlight.  The greasy devil held an old earthly revolver in one hand and his bottle in the other.  The officer slumped and fell as the grove caught aflame amidst the rain.  The last words the cop ever heard were the ones that bled through the static and rain, “he was lookin’ for a soul to steal.”

The driver drove– more crookedly than before, but still straight enough to find the road back to hell.  The road to hell is always straight, but the driver is always crooked.  The left headlight winked back into existence and the two marched along to the town that always needs two working lights.  One red and one black.

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