with nowhere to end (dream bit)
It was a contagious sort of dark that flicked with the mountains making triangles on the road, but the dark caught each of them until the triangles were gone and there was only dark. The patterns played the seats, turning them on and off and we remembered when the car was new over a decade ago; the washed chemicals smelled so fresh we didn’t know if we were being intoxicated. The seats were so wide with so many rows we rode all night in our pajamas and it was like floating in the pale ceiling of a hotel, stiff& whitewashed from the vacuum and the bleach, afraid to exist, anonymous...