My buddy—let’s call him Juan, loves to drive. I mean he’s a real speed demon; buys these fast ass cars like you and me buy new shoes. He’s loaded up from screwing people over with phony investment deals: Glengarry Glen Ross-type shit.

So he comes around with a new Porsche Carrera GT red as the devil’s dick and asks if I want to take a spin. But Juan’s so selfish that at least thirty-five times we’ve gone out joyriding, motherfucker never once lets me wrap my hands around one of those smooth steering wheels. I mean, I’ll never be able to call one of those cars mine, so it’s the least he could do, right? And it’s definitely the least he could do for screwing around with my whore of an ex.

Destiny. I don’t mind shit all giving you her name because everyone needs to know what a Goddamn whore she is. One of those trophy chicks that come around once in a life and not necessarily because you have any kind of special connection with her, but because she just has a banging body. I mean, total package: this chick could fuck three ways from Sunday. If I knew it the first time I saw her, hundred others knew it too, right? Destiny loved to show off the banks and curves God gave her.

Yeah, right. I had that shit coming to me sooner or later.

So this guy pulls up looking all slick in his red devil’s dick and tells me to hop in and, man, if I don’t smell Destiny all over the inside of that thing. It was tiny and must’ve been an uncomfortable lay.

We’re driving and the car’s purring. Goddamn Germans can really build ‘em. Juan’s about to turn on to Castillo Drive. It’s a racer’s dream out there—over two miles of straight track—so I tell him to gun it.

I’m never one who wants to go faster but let’s see how much speed 500K gets. He smiles wide like an idiot.

As I pull the pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket, I swear his right foot is flush with the floor. I can’t see the gas pedal. The engine sounds like the fucking apocalypse.

He hears the click of the lighter, looks over, and tells me to put it out. “Are you fucking crazy?”

I take a long pull from the cigarette. “Yes, I am crazy. Of course I’ll put it out.” His eyes light up like fucking Christmas when I stab the red ember into his thigh.

He screams like a banshee; we spin out and I’m ready for all of it: dizzying colors, my buddy trying to right the car, making it worse, speeding us to our destiny. We’re homing in on a light post. The last thing I remember is its silver shell filling the windshield frame.

I’m not supposed to but I wake up in a hospital, the left side of my body burned to shit. Look at my right side and you’ll never know I was almost flash fried. The doctor says he’s sorry, nothing could be done for my friend.

Can’t say I’m shocked I haven’t seen Destiny since.

Every once in a while, someone’ll get a peek of my left hand and ask about it. I give ‘em a story about how I survived.

Because I’m immortal.

So don’t fuck with me.