#notebook2018

I’m leaning on my car, you’re sitting out of yours.  The question was only who’s car to take, but I suppose that holds meaning, too.  Why would you want to read me? I think; you don’t read much, anyways.  I’m not a picture book, I’m no good to look at.  I’m not a magazine with white smiles or current stories, I carry no gossip.  I’m a dusty old story barely holding my spine together, of course you can’t read me.