Encounters
''spume'' ▫ᴱᴺ｜encounter｜ENC｜20260817190946-33-•
The backup lights flared and the Jeep began reversing down the road at a good twenty miles an hour. Now the transmission sounded not pissed off but panicky—please, it was saying, please stop, you’re killing me. The Scout’s rear end wagged from side to side like the tail of a happy dog. I watched it coming at me, hypnotized—now in the northbound lane, now across the white line and into the southbound lane, now overcorrecting so that the lefthand tires spumed dust off the shoulder.
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@Bag of Bones ▫𓂃
(echo:: @ ⌗)