stuck in a dead zone for a few years or so
with a cranky guy who called himself metaphor;
fortunately somebody stopped and gave us a lift.
the driver told the other guy to sit on the back
and shut up because he talked too much. i was on
the front overlooking the scenery as we happened
to passed by an english guy lying on the pavement,
he said he drank poison but cannot be sure so we
put him in the backseat too and hoped to get him
to the nearest hospital. on the first stop we met
a bunch of people acquainted with the driver and
all of them knew metaphor and so he dropped off
and went with them. and on the next, we saw two
dopefiends, the younger one taking a nod while
holding his notebook, the other, a nuyorican, was
being chased by the police. we also saw musicians
on the crossroad playing on the streets shouting
revolution and some artists selling portraits to
us. the driver doesn’t seemed to give a fuck though.
we had small talks and drove slow. he was real nice.
he gave me two beers in can and he talked about women
and his damn job in a post office. and that english
guy on the backseat, he was already dead, we didn’t
noticed it until the lights had changed to red.


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