short story today

the car skated with ease down the soft slope of the road. it sloped as to acclimate the traveller to its curves, never surprising, never unsettling: a smooth descent.
she was driving, cigarettes, with the ash blown from the hyperventilating windows like funereal confetti of some grave celebration.
the embers have floated before, she is sure, of it. as i am, too. we have driven at night, and watched those small orange specks in meandering orbit, sent up like the arbitrary firecrackers of some inoculation. we got to talking, when the radio faded out. sure, did, yes we did. she spoke of general topics. this conversation could have been with anyone. this went on for some time, my attention naturally flagging, and shifting towards my right side: fields of oatmeal colored tinsel, with great creatures standing:symbols of prominence.
her eyes were bad, so i was the first to see the shape. it was a brown one. and as we moved closer, the amorphous image gave way to form and life: as if in those movements towards it the entire period of conception, gestation, and birth had set in motion and completed. a great, sad looking bull looked upon us with the eyes of dead relatives and friends forgotten. there was no passing it, fences on either side, and creature standing at the gate.
i got out of the car, with my hands outstretched as to offer peace to him:
he spoke: put your hands down, its okay
-my woman and i need to pass, dear friend: a few steps is all we ask of you

he spoke: tell me your name sir, and i will be on my way

- i will not

and at this they froze and remained in that grotesque position of obstinance, as night spilled across the pastoral scene like mercury-transforming the earth as they remained in stasis, like two puppets set down in the dark of the dressing room in an empty theatre: with frozen expressions.