Solitary scintillation

Cruising at 80 mph, to a sticky swelter. Low waters, bright moon, thick air. Spirits fly past and smear on glass. It costs $5 to wipe away that spirit veneer. yet, moving STRAIGHT AHEAD past the past. I can tell the crust inside nasal passages indicates I've traveled far. Driving alone, the pleasures thereof, insular insomnia. No frantic frenzy, just private predilection for first-person perspective along country lanes. I constantly rue the city craters damaging by underbelly. Urban life can be daunting, which is why I always have durable kicks for limber migration.

"Always keep moving. Never appear lost."