It isn’t actually a wrecked stock car. I just call it that, the top two floors occupied, and the lower 48 on fire. The mirror on the wall has mastered the technique of waiting graciously for someone to appear. Meanwhile, I listen to the insect-like buzz of my own blood in embarrassed silence. The only instruction is FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS. There are naked women everywhere. I don’t think I’ll be doing laundry.
Photograph by Thomas Hawk, used under a Creative Commons license.