Indigo Samson (12)

   
   "Indigo Samson (12)"
   
   In the backseat of the monstrous muscle; specifically, the behemoth 429, Samson Landon sat, hands aglow in an indigo-like ooze of quasi-fire, the big dog, or wolf, looking back at him, and the short-haired Miriam piloting the muscle machine.  They drove through the night in suburbia, past all the white-picket fences and yards matching symmetrically with nice mown grass; next, Miriam turned on light classical, and fed Samson some insight.

MIRIAM
Yeah guy, you're like a rare blood kinda fella.  Only a few percent of the entire human race has your blood.  You probably don't have all your wisdom teeth, something funky with your back, and maybe and extra nipple or two--basically, you're a kook, but you got class, though some of it is low.  Cut that hair hippie?

SAMSON
Grimaced.  No way cool girl in the Stang.

MIRIAM
Teasing.  Now, I'm a rare type as well.  But Buck here, the wolf, is positive, yet he has great faith in justice and the spirit of justice; thus, he needs no Moon mother, in a sense, but the Holy Spirit, that least talked to aspect of God, which is why the world is so distracted and weak, allowing socioeconomic control.  Relax, like a father, God chides not always, but blesses those who sincerely fear Him; moreover, they will learn to HATE pride, arrogance, and false testimony, which is sorta wisdom, a thing in action.  I get this stuff from King David and the Son of David, the other King.  Do you like pretzels dipped in cheese?  Buck loves a good hamburger and the pickle farmer.

SAMSON
Can you take me home now?

MIRIAM
Afraid of a teenage girl and a German Shepherd on spiritual steroids?

SAMSON
A little . . .