My name is Max. My world is corn and propane.
In the time after the Great Dry-Out, when the coasts were swallowed by storms and the cities tore themselves apart, the last scraps of civilization drifted inwards to a Heartland that had become a wilderness of rust and potholes.
Out here, in the Midwest wastes, the powerful rule from atop customized riding mowers. Roaming clans fight over heirloom seeds and clipped coupons in the shadows of abandoned grain elevators.
I am the one who runs from both the living and the excessively polite.
Hunted by casserole scavengers, haunted by the squeak of the cheese curds I could not protect. A man consumed by a single thought...
Ope, sorry.
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