Feeling his way around the wheel, it lost it's wild edge of sharp union.
Turning the curve was like caressing the silk of a tight dress on an expensive diva of discontent.
The lights hummed and the engine was bright.
The night came and the speed left him contented with drops of fear and sex.
Sell the world and give the profits to the road.
Weave. Weave. Weave.
Have a motoring Monday!
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