He lived alone. He tried to shield himself from the perversions of the outside. His often drives on the road to companionship led him to dead ends. He could avoid the dead end at times. He made U-turns. The last turn displayed scorched fields and burnt down houses. Even when he sensed victory, he counted numerous blue and black cars crowding the street around him. He lived life alone, but still navigated the streets in his green Corvette. His yellow license plate displayed “SFI” in bold white letter. Samuel F. Ivanna rarely took the right turn.
Samuel met Karen Neumann at a bar. They exchanged attractions and started dating. Their dates were plain. Casual dates lasting a few hours. Samuel couldn’t get closer than arm’s length with Karen. Less than a month later, Samuel hit the road.
“Is there no decent women?” Samuel asked, “None with the understanding of my efforts, my pure desires. What happened to the thing called ‘morals’ people used to have? I try to talk, I can’t, my attempt of perfection leads to flaws. There are no decent women, the problem’s not me.” He lived alone. Along the street he met women. Pit stops. His friends were refueled but he wasn’t. He drove along the street making more pit stops. Samuel ran out of steam. He ran out of fuel. Samuel F. Ivanna. Failure was his middle name.