Sunday Morning

That's pretty much how it was going that day, not a cloud in the sky, but smoke everywhere.  At the parking lot again only this time on pleasure.  Didn't quite seem to matter right then what I knew or what I didn't know.

The second I start to give a s***, You'll be the first to know.

That's what he said, at least, hoping for one last handful of control.  Wanting somehow to leave some sort of mark.  It's too bad it rolled right off.  I'm sure until now he's thought that it had landed, and mined some last bit of dignity from my skin.  It's the poor man who looks for pennies.

Let's get this thing rolling...rolling just like she was down the highway in her convertible. Going a few miles under the limit, just like she always did; that's how she liked it. I assure you that right now you're thinking of more than she was at that moment, meandering across the desert, bringing life to the endless nothingness. You can imagine her with a long pink and yellow silk scarf, flapping around carelessly, stretching far back beyond her car, like a paintbrush coloring over a tired canvas. The engine roared down the highway. She was smiling.

She woke up feeling refreshed. This wasn't the first time she had this dream. She thought of you, wondering if you would come true, wishing she could meet you. This time you were sitting by her. The wind in your hair. You were caught up in thought. Not smiling at all.

"You let it go", she said seemingly to the windshield.  "And that's about it", she said very matter-of-factly and smiled, still never looking away from the road.

That's pretty safe driving, you think to yourself and accidently say out loud.

"Not really when you think about it", she says, now turning towards you.

But now its too late to react and you keep thinking you should have laughed, suddenly wondering what your own intentions are.  "Why am I here", you ask and open your eyes to the ceiling fan spinning hypnotically off-center and so slow you feel your eyes staring at one spot and follow it around and around.

"What the...?"

You reach into your mouth and begin pulling out a yellow and pink silk scarf, almost choking in anticipation of the last bit coming through your throat.

"You talk too much", she sneers, holding the scarf high with one hand, and the other rested on the seatback beside you.

Same thing she always said.