maps, directons can i do this? books, snakes, planes, old tv shows for kids spelunking some fruity soaps let's talk till our throats are raw because there's too much to say can't say it all. or at least mine. meet this one and that one if it had been tomorrow it would have been hotter and it's so beautiful and all or most of you are there and finally yes. foxy gel and the flumes and lock up your ovens because we'll steal them and make muffins.

and later route 2 hardly everest a dirt road friendly cartography i can't accept that thanks goodnight the navigatrix like an old slasher movie claire at the door so helpful so friendly f.w. the saint and back on our way. the moon so beautiful i live for this why can't i ever. what friends and what times and what times to come and what times have passed and what would we have done otherwise? in case you were wondering. all like the sweetest of dreams made sweeter by knowing it was/is real.

life hangs by a thread. the momentous moments that seem so momentous later, the ones we see as vital links in the chain that affected us and changed us forever after. are they really so momentous or do they only seem so because the selves after can sit in a car together and talk about them? like killing the butterfly of the distant past in the typical sci-fi story what ifs. the snow falling just when. thin wisps of it on the ground there were. what ifs and you were theres and if not fors would we even be talking about it later. a bad first impression, a chance encounter, an unexpected knock and a hey what's your name again. a tell-all at face value. deeply philosophical for a ride home maybe see you friday. life a thread, weaving, a tapestry, the poetry of mortality and we never quite got metre.

smiths on a plane. smiths in the car. often it all comes together on the final foxy leg of the trip home, and it comes together like this: i am so happy. i can listen to a song about serial killers that prey on children but as long as the melody's good and it is i'm having a good time. driving through what always in all ways seemed like the center of town but it isn't and all the lights seem like they're always on but nothing open. light just to the left goes off as i drive by and formulate that thought will i remember that just as i remember everything else and remember the thought i'd been forming more because of it or at least write about it when i get home all signs point to yes. it's time that the tale were told. go to sleep go to sleep get to sleep.