There’s an ambulance around here somewhere, driven by Rasputin, or so local legend would have it. He specializes in patients who have been visited by psychopomps, and the occasional young lass who got a hint of tainted rabbit at the birthday dinner. It is said the passenger seat is always claimed by an ocelot, spade fan gripped in his paws, always, always in motion.
About the Author
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Blood and Thunder, Feral, and Grand Little Things, among others.