And pretended we didn't see the sly, narcotic handshake between the two bad ass mother fuckerrs on the corner of blank and blank.
And we found the hill Nick recognized from his last travel in the silver minivan.
When he took the picture of Cleveland's fine sunset, among what looked like a slaughter house.And David grasped the steering wheel with his energy drink in hand, ceasing every sharp turn he could.
And i sat in the worn in vinyl seat, allowing my pupils to relax upon images unknown.
And Van Morrison echoed throughout my ear drums, and i thought about how nice it would be to "fly into the mystic".
However, i'm in a silver minivan with four other bodies, just as confused as mine.
And together we searched for opportunities to become similar, united, somehow connected.
And we didn't realize it, but by searching for the same thing, we were one in the same.
Connected by simple thought and through mumbled depictions and vivid vocabulary.
Part of me feels obliged to say something.
like a topic producer, a conversation starter.
but it's hard to do that when all i can do is think of her.
it's like, finding that one cd in the back of your own silver minivan, that one you'll always love, and never grow sick of.
you know the fucking one.
and each over played track is like a new set of twenty-four hours with her hand in mine.
and we could be minivan-less.
in the center of a foreign utopia.
and the common soul would feel that it would be appropriate to weep.
the perfect time to tear down the walls of the forgotten, and feel cold.
but not me.
'cause i have her.
and she makes me feel warm.
