Max.

Little things can elicit a huge response. Today it was a yellow mustang – one of the new ones, with the black racing stripes up the hood. Max’s car. Of course, it wasn’t Max, but it was one of his toys. He didn’t keep many—toys, that is. The car was a fairly recent acquisition at the gentle nudging of a friend and lover. He learned to love the feel of a powerful engine as he sped down long, dark stretches of road after midnight. I’ll have to take that car away from him now because it’s too soon. He needs to deprive himself of enjoyment for the story he first appears in. Who wants to volunteer to tell a two thousand year old vampire he can’t have his muscle car? Yeah, I thought so.

It wasn’t taking the car away that drew a gasp and a shiver when I spotted the vehicle. It was what else my dear Max has lost recently. He’s been quiet, unwilling to voice an opinion on the matter, and that doesn’t surprise me much. He’s always been a quiet character, letting others take the spotlight and offering his stoic but strong support when and where needed. He wants to write his senryu today, but I can’t. I don’t want to channel his poetry. I honestly don’t have time for it either. Not today. If I did, I’d be more likely to write another zombie piece similar to what I posted yesterday. Silly, yes, but sometimes I need to amuse myself first and foremost. I’d feel better if Max would just throw a temper tantrum, but I know, he needs to write first.

Write Max. I’m here for you. Work can wait, Musa Immortale.

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