The fireworks of white flight on the horizon explode with privilege as I drive down south of a divided road with beacons like sequins of Terminal 2 flashing to my right
A midnight run shows the silhouettes are sharp steering the scabs and the sailors and trailers and the traders to the burrows for an inevitable hibernation.
So I change the station like a synaptic reflex for fear of showing disingenuous support.
The wagon wheel down by pilot knob and dodd is where I stream my privilege and my place in it or without it while I creep north of the revolutions per minute while driving south of the city limit. The smell of vortex is fresh and soon I won’t see the blurred demarcation line.
As soon as I hit the valley the yellow and white are buried under the blankets and the glow of the thin blue line held attention while I slid through the intersection to signal my intentions
Pretty sure I failed to come to a complete stop but that wasn’t the message. It was a second, an ad spot, a word from our sponsors and we’ll be back after these messages… I was being filmed before a live studio audience but my passenger white light was out
Just an FYI
Just to let you know there’s no warning that it’s
Just a reminder that I will always arrive home
And never have to think about it or doubt it.
Besides, I forgot to tune up the two stage before the flurries become the storm.
