Anywhere

We could have been anywhere in America. All there was to do was drive. The gas stations glowed into eternity. Windows down. Taste of metal on my tongue. Taste of someone’s boyfriend. And everywhere felt like a highway. After midnight we had a new president. Blasted When You Sleep by My Bloody Valentine. The cheap speakers shook the car. No one voted. We got high in a 7/11 parking lot. Drove to someone’s house. Liquor store. Cemetery. Where we looked for the youngest tombs and. Sorry. Sucks. See you next lifetime. The sky was black. The haze from the pollution too beautiful. No photograph captured it. “And what would you put on your tombstone,” someone asked. “If you had to unfuck anyone, who would it be.” We thought of our tombstones as the last thing you wear. The final time you look in a mirror, except now, it’s everyone looking at you. Forever. No place to disappear really. But the ads on the road keep you company. One more thing you can buy and put in your mouth.

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