lost_highway raze the cigarette is ash, though it never did begin to burn. it flakes onto the fabric of what i wear to keep myself from growing cold. thin paper packed with poison in pieces at my feet. my only friend in this place is a ghost i gored with my antlers when i tired of hearing him talk. partnered in a game of pool, we arm ourselves with wooden wands that need their faces painted blue to be of any use to us. they're solids. we're stripes. i call my first shot. seven ball in the side pocket. he keeps rearranging the numbered planets with his hands until the whole solar system is shot. he's not the one who drives me home. it's a silver-haired stranger behind the wheel, with a tedious comedian offering careless quips from the back seat. we're halfway to the end of an unbaptized highway when i realize i've forgotten where i live. 251024 what's it to you? who go blather from