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Serotonin Lightning Bolt

Serotonin Lightning Bolt

David Peterka

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“I never thought that we’d find freedom in a tank of gasoline,” I shout, barely audible over the gurgling engine and the turbulent storm of love-drunk serotonin that burns hot between our ears. A wild churning trail of lonesome Midwestern dirt road dust spills out like a jet stream behind us and our 1987 Toyota pile-of-shit-machine, as we claw and kick our way across another state line that got in our way, and all I can think about is how beautiful you look riding shotgun half of the time, and how this whole big god damn disaster of a thing crept on heavy like a dream or something a lot less subtle.

 

All Rights Reserved to David Peterka

The Funeral

The Funeral

White Rock Evening

White Rock Evening