I drive with my eyes closed.

Summer, 2010

Why am I always sweating? Shit, I should see a Doctor. No insurance. Well, soon. Wait, is this gonna be some stream of consciousness shit? Fuck, I hope not HOLY SHIT I'M DRIVING Justin spasmed into consciousness with a jerk, hauling the right-hand wheels of the car back onto the road, up from the soft shoulder. Crazy how quick you could drift away like that, warm and comfortable in the sun-stupid heat of your own mobile hotbox, cruising down the road to the soothing sounds of HOLY FUCK Justin dragged his awareness back to the fore, where his eyes were currently neglecting their chore of monitoring the empty, winding road before him as it wound through country fields and barreled into wind that flowed as fast and free as anything alright I'm sleeping again he actually thought for a second before he woke up, shaking his head, and rolled down the window to let the air slap him 'round a bit.

His car was gold, and old, and the bumper sticker on the back was mom purple. CANCER SUCKS it said. This was true. SAVE THE TUMORS said the one next to it. He told anyone who asked that he kept his in a jar at home - this was not true, since he had never had tumors that he had known of (knock on wood).

At the intersection was a wilted van, flashers flashing inanely at anyone who'd look. Emblazoned on the side was some politician's smugly grinning ugly mug. Smugly grinning ugly mug, Justin thought, as the fellow on the van stepped from the space beside his own face. As the light turned green the public servant was sliding himself under the vehicle. Sucks to be him, Justin thought, and promptly fell asleep again.

That's okay, he dreamed, I'll be home soon anyway.