Horsepower Spirits

— Remember when we used to talk
About breaking out and actually making something of ourselves?
But you said the grind was too much damn work,
And you’d rather just be a lazy, useless slacker.
Fine then: take the backup Ferrari,
Yoke the wild steeds, and let them
Drag that heavy iron coffin right through the drifts.
Get your ass to the capital, brother.
You need an education,
Not just hooker runs and chasing
Burnt-out, thirsty chicks.

Later.

— You were right, man.
My poetry is nothing but pure rot,
And my head is just a frozen, wasted blur.
The Ferrari is buried deep in the snow,
And these broken-down nags can barely drag my weight.
Heading toward the Academy, where
Years of grinding will just wither into dust.
Out here, there’s no service, no bars, no reception—
You can’t even send a damn text.
Zero gas in sight, and don't even ask about a dentist.
This miserable nineteenth century—
I’m trapped here paying for my sins.
But mark my words: I’m breaking out of this hellhole—
Straight back into my twenty-first century,
Cutting the chains for good!

I just need to find a gas station.
And if there isn't one—
I’ll fill the tank with the purest spirit,
And get both myself and my metal steed absolutely wasted..