Jet Car

This part is true:
And we’re in a hotel room but we’re in separate beds, and I can see her lying down across the canyon between beds that might as well be impossibly deep and wide but I don’t care. I’ll be Evel Kneivel and I’ll ride a bicycle or motorcycle or jet-car over the gap and crash in a huge fireball that could be a raging inferno or could be her crushing blue eyes. Either way she’ll put out the fire, smother my smoldering wreck in her open palms, smoke trickling through her fingers, and I’ll be taken to the hospital and condemned to bed rest, so that I can recover and heal and try to jump the canyon again because this is what I do and this is what I will do until someday or somenight I’ll make the jump and land and will be welcomed with cheers and praise and most importantly an open heart that is really all I ever wanted to begin with.


Uhhh, yeah. What was the name of the wine I was drinking?