You know it's a good thing that home is where you're headed when you get in the car and you find yourself thinking "We are all, in some way, going to Reseda," and you hunch forward over the wheel in imitation of J. Frank Parnell from Repo Man, saying "Eyes melt, skin explodes, everybody dead . . . So immoral, working on the thing can drive you mad," and you don't even live in Southern California, never have, but the dotted yellow line in the road is a blur as you navigate the turns and back streets of suburbia, past the stoplights and along the black river of gently humming asphalt. . . .
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