[ TSC ] In need of temporal relief for the night
Hungry. Weak. Tired. So to speak, out of gas, in auto-
pilot mode. Yet, wide-eyed. Unblinking. Wired. Rather
terrified of losing consciouness, often braking to slow
that sinking feeling of sleepyness overpowering her
in the sudsy comforts of its lavender lather.
The joyride? Over. It had gone as far as it could go.
Ford's steering slick with sweat in white-knuckled fists
wet as the black curtain before her beading rainwater
repeatedly torn aside during the blitz attack
of bladed windshield wipers' slaughter.
In her purse, $40K stolen from the tycoon.
Certainly enough for a private island getaway . . .
or a vipers' nest with a VACANCY in the middle of no-
where. Marie Samuels would soon pay her pipers.