welcome_to_the_real_world raze there's no cassette deck in this hatchback. we blast our tunes on a black boombox slouching in the back seat. the cigarette lighter is a key that unlocks a door i haven't learned how to open yet. i want to live in that small red circle. i'm a hard leather headrest on a cloth-covered bucket seat. you're the tanned hide of an animal pulled taut against the cold metal gearshift. when a loose fan belt gives out in the fifth year of its second life, you'll carry me on your shoulders in the dead of winter, walking for miles until we make it to a mcdonald's, where hot chocolate too eager to live up to its name will burn my tongue, ruining the next day's dinner. the taste of tingling and ham fat forever seared into my mind. 230406 what's it to you? who go blather from