Fuck, it's hot in this car. Sweat gathers in my antecubital fossa like rain in an open trough.

It's past midnight but the leaves overhead are hard candy green from the street lantern. Sometimes a breeze will come their way, and they'll dance like sugar fed kindergartners before quieting down and turning still.

The trees on the next block over are hard to make out. I'm looking into dark clots on thin trunks the color of void. In the future I pray I won't regret what I do now. When I grow up I want to escape this existential anxiety, the weighing of freedom and responsibility. I'll take off my polka dot dress and step under a cold water beaded curtain, wash away the grime, the heat, all that sullies me in the day-- before it penetrates this skin.

backtrack ; to the end