It’s 134mph down Interstate 5, flinging shopping bags out the window filled with feathers, and mayhem on the roadway returns in furious fashion. The skyline is greenish, a blue plume of smoke rises out flared nostrils, and grand theft auto becomes a purple Skyline. Being chased, or maybe not, but the backseat can’t complain: cooler full of money and jewelry, hostage/babe feeling the rush, and fine, dried, and massaged oiled leather interior. “Fuck it. Fuck it, nah. Fuck it. Here,” and the babe in the backseat takes the phone. Mmm, that “CooL BReeZE. (SNiP)” to: her yelling ‘bout the silhouette of all the buildings against the mixture of color, and wait — she can’t describe the color. Malicious laughter swells the Skyline as the windows are rolled up, and exhaled blue swirls smother the interior. This can be a life, yeah, “We can roll like this forever, darling.” Eye contact is made through the review mirror. Her yells become squelched momentarily, and-and she starts choking on smoke. Feet continuously fluctuating between break and accelerate, the highway is flooded, she passed out and is drooling on the cooler, and your 3D-glazed eyes won’t never pull over. Forever, working them feet. TeK LiFE criming.