ataraxian at the crossroads

The night before we stayed up very late standing under a lit-up motel sign by the side of the road getting our hair and clothes blown all over the place by the wind that was whipping up the sand. He was hitting every subject that’d been on my mind over the past few days somehow, one by one. I was wearing cat ears.

The next morning we breakfasted at Crossroads and he could still feel the Atarax (as I do, writing this five mornings later.)

No related posts.

Leave a Reply