Rob (lost_in_my_room) wrote in berandom,

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open mic!

sing to me, post a picture, show me some art you've been working on, tell me a story. the mic is open. do something with it

do it anonymously if you want

ready... GO
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i wrote this yesterday. it's just a sketch right now

Gas station coffee cup number 21 tumbles into the night, dancing in the Cadillac’s slip-stream. He reaches for a cigarette and lights it with a practiced hand, praying that the nicotine will keep him alive until he can find the welcome lights of an all night gas station. He’s barely aware of the jazz DJ on the radio, hardly registers the flashing ‘check engine’ light on the dash, doesn’t even see the cars he passes. The hypnosis of the late night drive mixes with the smoke in his iris to block it all out. All he need focus on now is motion. Keep moving. Drive. It’s because of her. He tries to remember if he’s running to be with her, or to escape. That’s not important right now. He rolls down the window and the stinging raindrops come in. he lets his hand float and flutter out the window, feeling each little wet barb sting his skin. He pats the drops onto his face and the back of his neck. A few more hours. That’s all he needs.