Burning torches split the neon glare, a siege of ghosts clawing at the windshield – faces frozen, smiles cracked, snowmen marching toward the edge of sanity. Flames lick the dark, a chaotic hymn under the diner’s electric hum. You grip the wheel; it vibrates in time with some sick, spectral drumbeat. Plastic bodies, paper hearts – a rebellion built from childhood scraps. It’s all melting now. Everything burns. And in the rearview mirror, the night is laughing.