It’s nice to wake up.
Nice to get in the car and drive,
To wherever.
Not that nice to see the fake tans,
Though.
And that hair,
It looks so uncomfortable.

And that car looks so clean from a distance,
I wonder what’s inside.
An Evian bottle and some scattered business cards?
I know what’s in mine.

Oh, mine.
Crumpled up receipts and some trash and,
Cigarette ash.
From two weeks prior.

She was confused as ever.
Like us all.

That smell of smoke still lingering.
My mind,
Still wandering.
Just driving.
Down Route 8,
Past the shopping malls and condominiums,
And into the crickets,
That hide.

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