Ash Heap Hound (11)

   
   "Ash Heap Hound (11)"

   My name is Max Barduff.  I'm an old timer, well, not really, but it gets me the chicks, well, not really, but ya gotta stay positive and shoot the bullshit sometimes.  I'm a widower after all, having a fondness for pilsner and liking to play cards, usually Solitaire with myself--I do most things by myself.
   Anyway, I was excited to hear from my blonde bombshell of a hobo-crusading daughter, Zoe.  She said she was coming home to Oregon, bringing a guy named Conner, who had psychological baggage, but carried it well, keeping a lock on it.
   I didn't mind if she liked an esoteric guy; I could use a magical grandchild down the road.  And I trusted Zoe in her carnal fashion, for she always held out for those guys with fancy and fabulous corporeal genes.  Hey, gotta keep the countenance of the Barduffs glimmering golden.
   Yeah, my hair was turning gray, and I had crow's feet--good.  Artists like lines and color.  I like being old, not distracted and stupid by way of a young brain perpetually thirsting for horny play.
   So, I cleaned up my suburban stronghold, gave Zoe a set of rules, and was thrilled to see her 'Cuda that carried a 383 block.  Owned a garage myself.  But I like foreign cars.  Japanese in particular.  Not rotary wankel, but a solid V-6  crowned with turbo, or even supercharged.  Did some racing when I was a kid.  Hell, it's America.  We are innate rebels.