As I drive and drive through the driving snow, the thin layers- white silk on rough black skin deceptively delicate- drift and make the road look like it's crawling along with me. Of words exchanged from around then I remember only that he's glad I'm patient and have a good attitude, that he hates snow, and that I shouldn't walk like I'm sick.
The protagonist is at the bar tonight and comes home smelling of cigarettes not his, with a smile, asking how I'm feeling, now singing in the shower improvised lyrics that include my name.
The days I'm dragging clank like cans tied to the fender of a car. There are ribbons and there is confetti. It's a good sound and leaves the idolizable glories of 2009 just a residue from the bliss that is me in the present moment. Then again, I guess it's weird to have this thing tugging on my ankle like this. :)