Quick bonus material that ties Submerge and Recede.
***
Warning, contains spoilers and won’t make sense unless you’ve read Submerge ***
To the spoiled rich kid who now owns the second love of my life,
Notice I said second because the title for first love
belongs to the reason you now call my car yours. You see, unlike you, I don’t
have an endless stream of money that I could just hurl at shit I don’t need. My
parents work hard, but I work harder because I want to be able to give the girl
I love the life she deserves. She doesn’t think she deserves more, and that’s
exactly why I know that she does. She’s perfect without even trying to be, has
a beautiful heart which doesn’t even compare to the outside package I have the
great pleasure of looking at, and has the most giving soul that I’m lucky to be
on the receiving end of.
If you haven’t already picked
up on it, I’ll let you in on a secret: I haven’t made mention of her name
because some entitled prick like you would probably search her out just to see
what exactly made some shmuck like me sell what you would assume is their most
important possession. But maybe I’ve misjudged you, unnamed bastard with your
perfect driving record. Maybe if you did find her, you’d realize what it is
about her that makes me willing to give up anything to be with her, and you’d
try stealing her away.
I’m not sure what
scenario pisses me off worse: you searching her out just to settle some
curiosity because you were bored and had money to throw away, or you searching
her out to buy her affections for yourself. Either way, shit luck for you
because she’s mine and has been since we were kids. Besides, she isn’t the type
who can be bought; which is something you – someone who’s eaten off of solid
gold plates and uses imported water to flush their shit – most likely couldn’t
understand, so I won’t bother trying to explain it.
Anyway, this is turning
into more of a rant, anonymous person I’ll never meet, so I’ll do you a favor
and get to the point if you bothered reading this far. I love this car, but I
love the girl more, so Loretta had to go. And, yes, her name is Loretta and
Loretta it is going to remain. Trust me, don’t piss off the machine, they can
be temperamental and refuse to work if you don’t treat them the way they want
to be; sort of like the materialistic women you probably deal with on a daily
basis, so this should come as no surprise. Loretta demands oil at every 2,000
miles, don’t dare surpass it. She likes having her coat buffed at least once a
month, more so in the winter, so don’t put it off for a blizzard. Spend some
money and have your butler, or whatever the fuck kind of servant you have, park
her in a climate controlled garage and let her relax while the storms rage
outside. Never run her tank on fumes, you have the money to keep her constantly
full so there are no excuses. And last but not least, treat her well. Don’t
speed around corners, burn her tires like a showy dickhead, or put off
maintenance because you’re too ‘special’
to think of the little things.
Daddy dearest spent a pretty penny on Loretta,
so make sure you don’t wreck her or else I’m sure he will be as pissed as I am
that some ungrateful piece of shit can’t take care of their possessions. More
so me because I painstakingly built her from the ground up. So, unless you want
to meet the business end of a 6’4” guy’s fist who defends the women in his life
like Chuck Norris hyped up on speed, I suggest you heed my warning and love
Loretta as you’ve never loved a car before or after. She’ll be the number one
woman in your life, until she’s dropped to second; and if you’re half a decent
man, you won’t mind that one bit when it happens.
The man who will glare at you every time you speed by,
-Walker
-Walker
