Today's OneWord: If

If I were a car, I'd break down right in the middle of a wasteland, and I'd breathe oily fumes so strong that the nearest town could smell the toxins and feel it churning up the acids in their stomach. I'd have an owner who'd curse and scream and kick my tires a few times with a heavy leather boot, then throw a reception-less phone at the hills while scraping her pockets for a spare cigarette.

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