viscous vile bear of a race
hang on for dear life
I swing the axe, once
once is plenty, then patience
and much suffering
how many laps? twelve?
don't kid me like that, ok?
what? you're serious?
Oh Christ this is hard!
grip slipping, all becomes quiet
I'm alone, at last.
fight this futile fight
I'd prefer to die standing
thank you very much
chase 'til they pull you
chase 'til you pop, fall over blind
but goddamit, chase!
thank you referee
my angle of pain -- mercy
is shown with a "pull"
driving north, rain starts
leaving california: "why?"
though wet, it's still home
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