The Testimonies of Ramon Fernandez

I don't want to back in and pretend it's wrong anymore— I know it7 s right to put the pedal to my appetite until I hear the engine roar. Alone inside my six hundred muscles, almost personless in an accelerating cubbyhole, I can scale the metalled roadways a co-conspirator of those for whom the green lights synchronize and are, in fact, made. Has anyone ever said about them they spin their wheels, grind the vicious circle, or go out of their way to entertain ideas once fresh now slippery with blood? Of course not.