Shot of good times, flashing? quick? temporary?
Little to say, less to think, she continues to push the car to its limits. The old beast is really roaring now, every piece is near death. The tires throw puddles the size of boulders to either side of the road; their surfaces hardly touching the pavement as they are pushed around that curve, now another.
She can't really see at this point, the husky drops were much too fast for her wipers and the speed she'd reached. How she was still on the road was unknowable, but it wouldn't last long. Up ahead lay a curve that was unlike all of the others. It was nearly a complete rotation in direction, and one that was difficult in the day, without the rain, and at any speed. She had no hope of Zenning that one through.
This is what jealousy is. This is a person with nothing but sour thoughts on her mind. All-consuming rage, hurt, and complete irreality have combined to turn this one into something else. It has inhabited her and pushed who she was out that window, with her dog.
Her dog had been, it seemed, dating her favorite chair.
That sonofabitch.
Well, can't escape comedy.
-- Well, it looks like thoughts are tagged with irony. Zapadoowap.
-- Is that a good sign?
-- It does the job.
"Oh, if my fronds could see me now!"
The sign bit is surely stolen from Airplane II, and, no, I will not stop calling you Shirley.
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