We were crossing America. From the back seat of the green Monte Carlo. I had a pillow and you had a pillow. Look out the window see something we were told and Texas rolled its brown dust through the yellow grass at the shoulder. Lime green seats, radio static. Trucks in heat waves ahead, water mirage mirror. Headlights. Everything is doubled is dissolving. Until Ago. Front seat back seat inside out. Firestarter on the seat beside me, I look for something out the window, can smell the book on my hands, my thumb in my page.
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