I was speeding up the highway, doing 130 with my car stuck in third gear. The little bitch didn’t feel like shifting herself last night.

On my way through Amherst, I saw this hippie dude on the side of the road with a cardboard sign that read: “HFX.”

He had a big pile of blond dreadlocks and a hand drum on his back. When I passed, he waved and jiggled the sign around hopefully. [Note: this is the proper use of the word “hopefully.”] I slowed the car down and pulled over and stopped on the snowpacked shoulder.

I could see him in the rearview mirror as he loped towards the car with a grin on his face. He looked like he was wearing sandals in the snow, with big grey wool socks. His dreadlocks were bouncing all about.

As soon as he got close to the car, I gunned the engine and took off down the road. A whole bunch of snow sprayed into the guy’s face. Ha, Ha, Ha!

God I love winter.

Before I drove too far, I did a sneaky little u-turn. And there I was going the wrong way down the divided highway. Faster and faster.

I got a bunch of speed on, then I veered off the road and smacked into the hippie guy.

I ran into his back.

Ka-blunk-a-dunk went his bongo drum.

I knocked him down and ran him over with my car.

Then I slowed down and turned around and headed back towards Halifax. Mister hippie dude was nothing more than a steaming bloody pile by the roadside–a disappearing smear in my mirror.

I stopped into Truro for a burger. Ran a red light and this cop just sat there, looking at me.

See this leather jacket I’m wearing? An animal died to provide me with this jacket. What I’m saying is, I am clothed in Death. I inhabit Death everywhere I go.

In fact I am Death.

I am the claimer of souls. The grim reaper.

You think you want a ride with me?

Ha, Ha, Ha.