Boston Was A Good Time

I struggled to see from the glare in my eyes the painted sign coming toward as i drove.  Thomas was still 2 hours away; I feared I would fall asleep at the will so i asked mark to drive and  he said his brain was fried from getting high too much as a kid.  Under my breath a flow of f's and sh's spewed ; I turned from Mark back to the road:
asphalt scraping coarse pupils like folded paper cuts: from the sides and

windshield becomes like a television screen
as I think I'm sitting on a sofa

on a sofa
 on a sofa
watching cars
watch  i  ng c   a   r ss
from my driver's sofa
sofa-car
moving road spinning rubber-tire boys
I'm floating over road rock
watching carss

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

sssssss


WAKE UP DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's his f'ing fault for letting his brain go like that; tripping so hard he can't drive now.  His f'ing life's fault that mine lost touch with the road and made us shit our pants.

Thomas was happy to see us and all we wanted was food.
Boston was a good time

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