seven hours

back home, this would be an adventure

I would know what to do

something great would happen

and we would eat chapati on the side of the road.

Would. But we are here,

I am windswept, arms folded, staring into a stream off the shoulder

of 215.7 southbound at 7:00pm (it’s getting dark, we have 4 hours to go)

and the engine is spluttering. Maybe it will explode.

Every pothole will be a curse, every damn trucker

will be stress.

Will.

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