Fatale Abstraction

Overcast today. I got in my truck after buying a toolbox for my silverworking gear. In the road beyond the parking lot and waiting for the light to change was a seventies era oxblood hearse looking every inch the ride of choice for ganstas, slappers and ballin-out-of-control pimps crossing over to the other side. Mesmerizing. Then I noticed the driver. Young with close-cropped hair and mirror shades, all in black with twin dragon-jet plumes of smoke shooting downward from his nostrils then flourishing into heavenward tufts. If ya gotta go, go in style.