Nevada Stories

The Black Keys thunder from pulsating speakers as Rex scorches us across a parched stretch of desolation. Madness glints in his eyes as he ups the volume and floors the accelerator, pushing the jittery needle past eighty-eight. The engine spits and roars. In the mirror I see a cloud of black exhaust streaming from the ass end of the restored Tradesman. The imagery has me reminiscing of raven hair and eyes that smoldered l...