Happy Halloween

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