Sunday, September 13, 2009
to be projected behind me, as I read poetry about travel.
the road continued on forever, as we whistled along, the low car hugging the ground, smashing into it occasionally, when I found a patch that was raised to high, or dropped too low. the tires were perhaps low on air to begin with, and the miles we had put on her had lost the small amount of tread they had once possessed, but we didn't have the option of stopping, not with our cargo so desired by the people at the end of the line, people not used to waiting, and who would pay considerably less even if they were left wanting for minutes. she chewed her nails and asked me how much farther? I smiled and flipped the dial, finding a station playing james carr, somehow, and told her that it wouldn't be much longer. she pulled a cigarette from the pack, and for the twelve millionth time tried to use the broken cigarette lighter. this time, instead of putting it back in it's sheath, she rolled down the window, threw it out, and I noticed it tumble off of the bridge, and into the pacific ocean, as we drove further south.