Ghost of James Dean
Along a dark, lonesome road outside Cholame, California
James Dean hitches for a ride back home to mom in Indiana leather jacket, slung over his shoulder, starry pompadour, slightly tilted beneath a clear, Big Dipper sky and only drivers with poems in their eyes can see him, right thumb stuck out, squinting at the headlights.
So, I pull over the red 930 Turbo and yell, Hey, Jim! I'm a Hoosier. Take the wheel.