Outside the window, like a film, cracks, rushing someone else’s life. And we are only a traveler, we always past. We go, look, wondering, fall in love sometimes. Not long. And then on.
There in these houses, people. Different so. Sometimes tanned and with wide smiles. Sometimes pale. Too much. But also look with interest in our eyes. Give something to farewell or change with us. Sometimes even clothing. And we take. Sit down in the car and go further.
We leave on the roads, go to bed. Greeting on asphalt. We look like the air melts and blurs the boundaries of things. And our borders too. We collect hot sand in the sneakers, we run away from lizards and again in the car.
We are going on the edge of the mountains, and I’m looking for a shadow on them. Buried barely. To the most vertices where cold and no already shadow, no sun. But the snow is. And again people. Joyful, frozen. Heat tea, her herbs like. We recruit the little things, we are quickly in your pockets, say goodbye.
Night. All sleep already, but I will not sleep. Wheels rustle, if you drive through the dividing stripes. We go. And it seems, I am alone, but we have two. Dark. Again cacti. Red stones. Some cliffs. And should be swapped in places to get. At least somewhere. Bumble in strange beds. Fiery other people’s motel. Until morning.
In the morning wake up of the sun. It is so hiking in a mosquito net. Cuts into pieces like butter, hot knife, shines in my back. Burns in me curiosity holes. And I get up. I go to the window. And there canyon. Red. As in books about Arizona. Know what’s the funny? I’m already in Arizona.