or just the wind in my eyes ‘cause I’m not wearing a helmet on the interstate.
All it took was a gallon of chocolate syrup and a momentary laps of reason.
Desert Center scares the shit out of me.
Broken down people and trailers abandoned along the road near a gas and sip in the middle of nowhere,
halfway to nowhere.
Life is just a carton of cigarettes, some cheap beer, and nowhere.
Where fuckups get dumped when society doesn’t even care enough to send them to jail.
Nobody ever comes back from this place.
It’s a fucking death sentence.
There used to be a sign that said You Are Now Here.
Someone had a bitter sense of humor.
When I was little, I would look out from the backseat of the chevy and think,
“Don’t stop here. Oh god please don’t let them stop here for gas.”
He’s inside the station buying beer for a teenage ghost who wandered in from the desert.
There are chocolate syrup fingerprints where he held the glass door open for her.
All I can think about is alcohol, and minors, and the fact that I might be standing on the State line.
Sometimes I look at the road and I can’t tell which way is home.
The warrant was served, the syrup was poured.
Shit was suddenly in motion.
It’s late and I think I screamed the whole way here.
I don’t know if it’s fate or irony to steal a motorcycle and run out of gas in Desert Center.
They trampled children to avoid getting chocolate syrup on their clothes.
He burned every bridge on the road to nowhere
That’s why I left him there.
I don’t think he noticed or cared when I rode away.
I could have gone with him. I could have continued fucking up until someone stomped my teeth into the wooden floor of a bar in the desert somewhere, nowhere.
But, I looked into the night
and saw the old sign that said
YOU ARE NOW HERE.
I saw my romantic notion of rock bottom come and gone.
A friend once told me there are no absolutes, I would never get there.
But he was wrong.
I didn’t bother apologizing on the way back. I just took a different road.
I don’t know what happened to him. I like to think he walked north until he came to Las Vegas. It’s what I would have done.
I brought the bike back before it was reported stolen.
But the chocolate syrup left stains that are never going wash out.