Lately we’d been living
on the road. From hotel to motel, to sometimes sleeping on the freeway; our
feet would touch the dirty ground but it stopped affecting us long ago. As the
shapeless clothes found life from the hour glass figure that use to be poor; rippled
roof tops eased into our minds. Power lines traced out figurines in the
distance, leading as our map to a place we’d like to go. But it happened,
whenever we entered a gas station or a restaurant the newspaper would be at the
front, telling the stories we didn’t want to hear. Lie after lie, as the booth
accompanied us to our food. Once we ate, once we left, we decided to take to
the road and stay on it. Since every time we passed someone, they felt older
than we were even if that was not the case; chasing after something was not
what we were doing but catching up to a displaced time line was where we were
heading.
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