art is a sad excuse for
self-
validation but here we go again.
you said you wanted so badly to drive with me
to the west coast because we deserved something
resembling an escape from
the apartment and
the cold air and
$6 packs of cigarettes and naturally,
I agreed so,
we split.
"yeah, baby,
take I-20 and keep rolling in
that direction."
we ignored maps, mostly because we were
broke
in more ways than one.
lickedy-split, you had a joint rolled and
popped in my mouth before hitting that
state line.
I fear I might've lost my touch with this,
with us.
California had better
change my mind or
at least
help me remember to lose it.
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