we roll into town like morrison or kerouac,
clutching a tampon sized spliff,
beer cans roll around in the back seat,
and sweat rolls down from the heavens.
i swear it feels like a hunter s. thompson movie.
cigarette butts fill the ashtray,
the stale taste of wastefulness fills the voids.
we are traveling nowhere,
yet we are going everywhere,
heading to the great beyond,
all points east and west…
and south to mexico.
stopping long enough to say hello,
and wave good bye and
fill up on gas, beer and smokes.
we pick up occupants along the way,
and drop them off,
sun beats down on us
and dust fills the air.
there are no complaints,
just traveling towards a destination.
god knows where.