dolorean raze i rode in the back of his car once. driver's side. windows down. someone i assumed he was sleeping with rode shotgun. she had hair the colour of spun wheat. he slid a cd into the thin slit that hid the optical drive and gave me ominous organ tones. echoing drums. the buzzing of a venomous snake. insistent plucked electric bass. then the sky opened up and al james told me what i already knew: "you can't win." a salvo sung sixteen times. when i asked what we were listening to, he handed me an album with a sepia-toned picture on the cover. i saw a man in a plaid shirt. his face a blur behind a line of light. nothing but hard eyes and hair. he wouldn't let me borrow it, so i went out the next day and made it mine. 231218 what's it to you? who go blather from