there’s something romantic about driving with the low fuel light on.

i’m often asked 

why 

the floor of 

my car is so

littered.

i’ll never admit

that i

practically live

in that old

dented ford—

constantly settling

in different

places.

i’m drifting 

through snow,

i blink, and

suddenly the

trees are lush 

and green

again. 

i’m running on 

empty, but

the key never

seems to leave

the ignition.