SPEEDING THROUGH EAST TEXAS |
Day three on the road, the sky opts to explode, rain spattering the windshield, the highway beginning to drown. In this state, even the rain is unfamiliar, the sight of green, roadside plants, plains, no hint of smoke swelling in the distance. If California is a hike up the Headlands—or maybe a car caught on fire—then this place is a dress left to mildew, scent of exhaust. I like the green, grass watered with thunderstorms, so maybe I won’t miss living three miles from the sea, from everything I know. Maybe I can survive this place unknown, this rain washing away my ruin, softening my tensed muscles, my scaffolds of bone. |