Night's coming earlier. Driving with the windows down, pieces of memories, bits of a strange and foreign mosaic. I can't feel most of it from here anymore. And that's as it should be.
I had a chocolate malt from Dairy Queen tonight. The flavor and the temperature of it made me remember the sound of a screen door slamming on a very hot afternoon in Niobrara, Nebraska many years ago. The chocolate malt that slid across the counter to me on that day was hand-poured by the Creator and about the nicest thing I'd had to date.
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