I dream of cars and how they mean so many different things.
Here I am on a corner waiting. When the red with yellow trimmed station wagon
passes, I don't care, I don't know him. An alarms
sounds deep as the van I've been waiting for my whole entire life,
and also for ten minutes, appears. The car, it gives and it takes. Waiting for
someone to arrive can pull the colors out and over the sky. That red streak, and how the evening sky goes through a bruise cycle's worth of colors, shines brighter. Expectation produces dust particles.