8On the Road“Get in!” Conn shouted at Soren above the growl of the Equus. It looked he’d just driven it straight off the showroom floor: matte black paint job, a pair of gleaming silver racing stripes, and blacked out wheels. The souped-up engine purred, but it would roar like a lion on the open road.
The two men had slept off the whiskey slowly, only rising once the sun was high in the sky. Conn had been in a fine mood, shouting about a “road trip!” and loudly whistling in the shower, the sound pulling Soren slowly into consciousness. He’d remained in bed a while longer, listening for the sounds of the birds outside, and trying to get a handle on why his gut churned, besides the effects of his hangover.
The birds had remained silent.
Going to Detroit with Conn was a mistake. He knew it
