I don't think that I can anymore. I brought the Magnetic Fields with us. He had procured a bottle of ephedrine from a 7-Eleven on our way out of town. We had Big Gulp sodas full of whiskey, and dark summer air with the windows rolled down. We had my fear and desire and his insensitivity and escape compulsion.
Life takes on significance at night.
Perceptions are clarified, elucidated with particular vigor by alcohol. There is neon and halogen, and I become moth-like. I possess enough highway ambition to want to circumnavigate the universe with the hum of reflective yellow lines at my left. He, I think, just wanted to see the East Coast, because he'd never been. I couldn't bear to show my face.