#argone

My hands are gripped around this fake leather that has grime caked on from years of use. The sun has cracked the dashboard and pieces fly at me once in a while.

My feet dig deep into the floorboards and the mats slip and slide around. The dirt in the floor has been there for years. How much of it is mine? Probably a lot.

The cold made my bones ache, my breath visible. The harder I gripped the leather, the more it would hurt, the less I cared.

The air became stale, everything was crisp. Bodies were warm. People are cold.

Too many times did I sit there waiting. wanting. needing. getting I smoked my first cigarette.

I made every song feel the way I did.

ha.

It was a weird time.