“Are you some fucking nut job?”

“Nut job? No…I just like watching others drive me around. You are going to drive me the rest of the way to Vegas, and no funny stuff yes? Because I wouldn’t want to piss me off. I can count the capillaries under your skin if you’d like. Understood?”

“And after we get there? What happens to me?”

“Nothing. You drive, do your duty for me, and it ends.”

A hesitant approval synchronized with the click of a lighter and the smoke escapes between her lips.

“What do you think of this country?”

“What do I think of this country? I think its full of whacks like yourself miss.”

“Maybe you aren’t as dumb as I thought.”

“How so?”

“You seem to be realistic at least.”

“And what if I am like this because of all the other “normal” people here? What if the sheer pressure of society bearing on me to be normal has subsided me into being completely “whack” as you describe it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Indeed, you would not.”

She checks her watch, been a while since she last slept, but the three coffees and vodka did its duties, about 40 minutes away she decides to read the newspaper, perhaps a place where she will go unnoticed will do for now.

The color of her hair will also need to be rendered to a light blonde perhaps, to change the general appearance and disguise the identity.

She turns her head towards him, his behavioral signs do not tell of anxiety, fear, or any of these expected signs.

The light of the moon hits his lips, showing a profile she just now admires.

She bites her bottom lip.

Lust?

Desire?

Maybe she will not discard him as quickly as she thought.

Just maybe.

- Buh-jee-zus is it just me or is it haling in Arizona?

- Minimum wage can be awful. I wouldn’t know though.

- I have not had hair this soft in perhaps, ever. That would be just a guess, perhaps.

- I need a t-shirt that says “You are my next picasso.” Why? Just because.

- It is funny how a hand full of tattoos on a certain guy can be so extremely attractive it makes one forget to even use his/her brain. Tis’ personal experience.

- I have decided to visit Norway at some point in my life. There is no certain reason.
Except maybe for the pudding. They have pudding in Norway?

- I must not give in.

- So math is the calculation of numbers all together, apart, next to each other, up and down and all
around? Then can letters be numbers? And if so, can you calculate A + B + C = Alphabet? Which
further equals eight divided by three? Or maybe eight times three? Which is twenty-four. Only two
letters off and it would be as many letters as there are in the alphabet. I now doubt X and Z as letters.
Damn you, X and Z.
Damn you.

- My ipod’s official name is “Funky Boob Monkey.” Now that is a name right there.

-”The world I know, is a world much too slow” is something I always sing about especially on my
way home.

- I think Paul Coelho found some ancient book of mayan stories, transformed it, and uses it every now and then for inspiration. But thats just me.

- Will somebody please define what acid jazz means? Perhaps I am asking the wrong crowd. Perhaps,
I am wrong and they are right. Lil Wayne rocks socks? Maybe not…

- Sarcasm and Irony have always worked as a great hollywood couple for me.

- I always enjoy piano on Mondays. This is a complete lie. I do not have the luxury of enjoying piano
every monday. Possibly getting a job may remedy this, that or a musician as a husband. Both of the two are highly unlikely.

- Dasani is product of the Coca-Cola Company. Sometimes I feel like Coca-Cola even makes my
 underwear. Must they own quite everything? Its spiteful.

- By the time a one world government is created, I will have at least discovered how many licks it truly does take to get to the creamy filling.

- Mud. Mud is great. Mud is awesome.

- If you’re going to have sexual intercourse in the library, be sure do it in the fiction section. It is
more realistic? Or not.

- Being chubby has its advantages. I just haven’t found them yet.

- Doopie Doo I sing all day. Doopie doop. Doop Doop Doop.
Yes. One sometimes finds the need to doop doop doop continuously.  

- Doop freaking doop.

Till next time, my onion bottoms.

Dear Lust, a bit of fun perhaps?

Why yes dear, of course. Would be quite the pleasure.

Introduce fierce look in the eye and the convincing innocence of kindness.

Local sports bar of Kingman, the dark wood on the bar catches her eye.

Contemplating the numerous ways in which it was sculpted and perfected.

The human skin can be admired if only looked at from the correct perspective. 

She needs a drink, and a strong one.

Perhaps rum, vodka, or just pure alcohol.

No pretentious thoughts flutter tonight.

She gets up, passes a man, lightly bumping into him as her bra strap falls. 

“Get off of me! Stop! No!”

The attention of other men is risen much like a wild call in the wilderness of savannas.

“What did you do to her, get the fuck off of her.”

A punch is thrown, and the smirk makes its appearance.

To cause mayhem is a small joy that needs to be savored once ever so often.

The tiles now vibrate, not from her high heels, but its origin now from the activity of fighting and punching in unknown direction.

Two men show off their skills as if two dominant males in the jungles of the Amazon.

This is an event to smirk at, to laugh at, to ponder and absorb..

She makes her exit unnoticed, no longer does the presence of the female affect them, they fight in banal force and sheer stupidity.

This is not the end, on her way out she grabs another man by the neck, kissing him passionately she lures him into her car.

He probably thinks that many lovely events will take place, but boy, is he wrong.

Somebody is going to be driving the rest of the way there, because precarious Lust does nor drink, nor drive.

Yes.

We have a new driver.

The stars sparkle their way into her glistening eyes, perhaps tears, she leads the car to the side
of the road.

 The road less traveled, in reality, dementia is welcoming the typical guest.

Take a polaroid and let yourself go.

Swallowing the sweet concoction of carbon monoxide and tobacco she stares above her, by god this universe is quite large.

Numerous smirks and ironic giggles later, she jumps back into the car.

The iced feel to the leather is a reminder of what her soul truly consists.

Cold and bitter, that she could even dare to love is a foolish joke told in cheap bars. 

Her heart will constantly bleed, but her ambition will close the wounds to continue false elucidation. 

A strong break flys its way through the pedals and onto the tires.

Only to realize the mind is playing parcheesi with her eye sight. 

Illusory and scarce, the image only crossed her range of view briefly.

Perhaps an animal, or a lost soul, she continues on to the explicit destination.

Pushing the limits of machinery she will not fill the tank for another 20 miles.

A quick plan is to take place until arrival.

Just a bit of fun, nothing more.

Her victims dental record will be floating in the Pacific Ocean in approximately half an hour, perhaps to wash up to shore in about 20 years, looking like a beautifully formed seashell.

Goleta is her destination, near the Santa Barbara Canal, according to her research, this canal will most likely take her discarded evidence all the way to northern california, somewhere near Santa Rosa, depending on its trend, and by then the jawbone will be eroded to a small rock of hard matter.

 She smiles, perhaps deviously, or perhaps just because the sun is shining. In epic content, she grabs her hot pink towel and proceeds to the beach.

The fun role of beach girl 101 is quite the adventure, as she takes the small bag out to the “deep” end.

The green of the algae reminds her of a beautiful painting she saw the other day, feeling the current run against her back thighs she dips under water playfully.

Not to distort the actual event that is taking place, she naturally just lets go of the contents in her hands.

To suffice adrenaline she even whispers a faint “goodbye, you asshole.”

The sand tickling her between her toes, she remains in the water for a while, her cheeks burning from the heat the loving sun sends her way, noticing a couple new beauty marks on her right arm, she hums along to a random song.

A normal process of murder has just been reversed, from random to calculated, from spontaneous to premeditated, this is so much more than she expected.

 A never-ending abyss of thought and feeling, the human mind will guide her next moves.

This can only take place in the next two years. Once every two years she will proceed to an event of this nature.

Silently studying criminology books in the local library, she has registered every cold case in the past 10 years, all of which died down after a mere two years.

Security in knowledge preaches her motto.

Throwing herself into her exquisite car, she silences a call from Portland, and continues her journey back home, risking a ticket she speeds twice the normal speed limit, she needs to get to Blythe in order for a plausible alibi to take place.

Walking into the gas station on Lovekin Blvd. she grabs an ice tea, pays for it, and while waiting for the cashier to swipe it, she is inspired.

Nobody is around, and the camera is not pointed towards the cashier as it should be, she grabs the cashier by the tie, kisses him passionately, and walks out, ten dollars in change left untouched.

A strut in her walk, she keeps the smirk on her face the whole drive home.