She knew how far away he was by his speed around each curve, racing unknowable the source of the longest road, far-flung around the globe, looping; the song inside him: loud, profound, fierce when he lived; once in a while, once upon a—when he knew where the music came from.
Dangerously close to the edge, everywhere he needs to be, her nails in his palms, hips launched, he grinds the brakes and turns around.
Ruined a little. A curious little. A crazy little. A certain little bit.
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