So this is when the wind blows steady like blood circulation, the kind where you can’t feel it on arm hair, but you you can hear it in the trees, and it tells you stories of well made connections, bottle openers on ridges of bottlecaps, nails just long enough to be considered nails digging into rotted wood to pull out nails rusted to death but together enough to be considered nails right from their heads. This is wrinkle falling asleep inside wrinkle. Like one phrase repeated over and over without becoming redundant, picking up steam like a circular prayer, and so even if someone was walking behind you and heard you say “you should come over” 8 times, it would make sense to them. This is unsynchronized streetlights and the ongoing gas-break through a strip out on the edge of town made lovely by a passenger in the passenger seat.
And this is that, but this time the traffic light malfunctions.
speaking of which, i’m pretty happy that this works.