The Mad Genius of Kevin Dunnebacke’s Sally-Anne Apocalypsa
W & P: Jeff Pew
I’m not saying Kevin Dunnebacke’s ever robbed a bank nor held up the evening train. I’m not saying he just sprung his posse from the local jail. I’m not saying Kevin Dunnebacke’s an outlaw, but I’ll be go to hell: it’s a warm evening on the dump road, wildfire wind in our hair, and the fellow beside me just slammed into third, his fist clenched to the butt of a double-barrelled shotgun. But it’s easy to get confused: I’m in the passenger seat of SallyAnne Apocalypsa, the KTown roadster that will run on moonshine, gasoline, and a stove full of burning wood. I’m not saying we just robbed the 8:15 Wells Fargo, but I just slapped Kevin Dunnebacke on the back, leapt from my seat, and yelled Yee-haw! I don’t know what we’re fleeing from under this star-sloshed sky, but we’re fleeing from something, and I’m in no hurry to get wherever the hell it is we’re going. I’m just fine taking our sweet-ass time.