tussled back seat passing,

we look through the dot speckled windows that break up all the cloud's toil and trouble into atmospheric static.

Passing over quickly, a few spaces no man has ever touched with the pads of his tender toes ...

no leaf has grazed or varmint trod. We rush to a city of concrete lust, of piled up trash pales all stuffed in rubber sacks.

Spilling out to the gutters where the bitter bums crawl across.

We're suddenly sucked into this warehouse of compartments where a few little critters stay.

Still singing a song we blasted in the car, sticking my camera out the window, feeling the rain splash on my face.

Trounce up the stairs, the smell of lacquer and plastic paint

The night revels in our smiles, our empty bottles and widening minds.

We wake in the dark, but walk outside to sunlight.

I can't figure out if any of this was ever real at all.