An Excerpt

His 1957 Mercury Turnpike Cruiser churned up the dust on the long stretch of asphalt road in San Jose. The freaking winds blowing from the plains tore across his tired face. Today was his third straight day of driving around Negros. With nothing except for a bottle of water half filled with urine on the passenger seat, he was cocking his head up and about to the tune of Keane’s The Lovers Are Losing. He kicked off his crazy stuck adventure on the island not knowing where he’d end up. All he knew was that he didn’t want to stop.
His elbow lay precariously on the open window of his car while the fingers of his other hand tapped the mahogany steering wheel, going “Na… Na na hope as you begin Rearranging!” He felt cool.
Huge trucks drove past him, leaving behind a trail of smoke and dust while SUV’s plowed around his classic model car. Heads turned as they checked out the guy in shades on the driver’s seat singing like no one is looking.