macserp

The road is a dark river of racing cars. Low black clouds touch down on the modern high rises of the Fascist city. I have not seen Rome from this angle. There are more signs for the Center but I am dubious. I still believe I am facing another city but I am caught at the head of a line of cars in a cloud of buzzing scooters and I cannot pull back. I gamble on the carousel, behind the ears and nose of a thundering steed, straining on the yoke like a gladiator, the oily wake chopping against the floor runners of this screaming chariot.

Riddle What does a Buddhist do when it's hot and he can't start his car? Does he close his eyes and imagine an air-conditioned tow truck? Does he smoke a cigarette? Does he pull a cell phone out of his robe