In the back of dad's blue Chevy on the way to Charlottesville. Me cracking my knee on tent poles jammed in the seat between us. You lunching on sandwiches, your doll forgotten on the floorboard. Us staring like psychos at passing cars, drifting with the rhythm of the day, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Our forearms almost touching, hairs thrilling as your perfect teeth puncture white bread.