Tuesday, August 24, 2010

tuesdays drive

four long lines of metal creeping into the horizon, hoping to vanish home. dotting themselves with two fold cherry lights and sun bounced glass in a mask of illuminated pretty. the truth being that they were slowly (quicker than they new in actuality) killing the surface they drew lines on. the interiors of each metallic piece played music to drown by, music to flood out the monotony of days and the guilt of fumes expelled. silent swear words and arms thrown into the air declaring a state of anger towards the asphalts fellow patrons. it really is no one persons fault. these things happen, daily, we have to deal with it on a half inch of nerve. that half inch wears thin.

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