The stench of rust was thick as Reggie and I awakened after a night of sleepriding our motorcycles through the Mojave Desert. You’d think we would have relaxed our grip at some point, but we had only tightened our resolve through the night.
“You hungry?” I asked Reggie.
“No, I’m a baseball card. Cardboard to the core. But you eat up, my friend,” he replied.
I had a couple strips of bacon that had warmed themselves on my hog’s engine. Good not great. I’m not normally a religious fella, but I threw out a quick prayer of thanks and a request for happiness to whomever might’ve been listening.
I knew the quadmatrix wasn’t far from here. Another couple days tops.
(to be continued…)