The night is here and the sky is filled with billowing tufts of ice and snow and the world becomes a fleeting white vision. I'll drive into it head on, foot descending on the gas pedal, knowing this turn is impossible to pull off. Look up into the almost evening and scream back at the radio, "Primer gray is the color when you're done dying." Windows down, precipitation inside my car, stuffed full of clothes and garbage and destris. You have no idea where you are going sometimes and your shortcuts all become longcuts and someday you're gonna fall asleep at the wheel, I swear.

Photo - S
Words - S