Brain things
I remember a car with a hole worn through the body in the back behind the driver's seat, just where one's feet would rest. It wasn't covered by anything and the asphalt sped beneath like a close and angry monster just waiting for me to fall. I remember that and I remember the rust on the edges of the hole, irregular and corroded. Merely looking at it seemed to threaten Tetanus. It's strange, I remember this, and all so vividly, but I have no context, no idea as to when or where I took this ride. I imagine it and I'm sixteen, but whose car? The interior was faded but in decent shape and I know there were three other bodies with me as I kept my mouth tightly shut in order to hide my fear of eating it at 50 miles per hour. I think about it and there's so much detail to the hole, to the feeling, to my position and the sense of the others, forgotten conversation swimming around me. It happened. But maybe only in a dream.
Something about it lies.
Something about it lies.