Cloud took the turn too tight , which made me nervous. My fingers were in danger of slipping off the 'oh sit' handle. We were driving through the mountains on the way to the coast. Redwoods and marijuana fought it out for my olfactory attention while Lou Reed assured me that it was going to be a perfect day. His voice escaped through the sunroof. I reached my hand out to catch it.
"Fog is simply low clouds. We're driving through clouds," I noticed aloud, really wondering if it was significant that clouds obscure and I was in love with a boy who sometimes left me feeling foggy.
"Yes, Trish. You're so profound," he replied.
"You're such a fucking asshole."
I turned my head and watched the roadside whip by. My face was hot with rage and I was glad the sunroof was letting in cold air. Snot rolled down the back of my throat, salty, as I tried not to cry.
No comments:
Post a Comment