"eve of destruction"
cars stacked upon each other, the stench of death like exhaust fuel, and a quiet highway upon which no one moved ... just fender digging into fender, crunched together like paper straws.
the sun would still shine, you said, disappearing, i imagined, into the thin film of dust over each and every hood of all of the useless vehicles. their drivers forever stuck in traffic, slumped against windows, collapsed onto steering wheels, impatient ghosts under a quite blue sky.
and there you would be, a soft voice drifting and rising over piles of metal and unappreciated countryside, sitting on the roof of your own worthless car, singing better than you ever thought you could, fingers moving effortlessly along the giving strings of the guitar his mother gave him, letting words out with tenderness and satisfaction because you had learned this song for just this occasion years before.
sun falling on your face, and you're by yourself in an audience of corpses.
you used to tell me stories about the end of the world and why you had to learn that song perfectly so you could sing yourself to sleep once it was all over.
