DANIEL BODEN WILLIAMS

We chose the highroad today, our gang, crawling up that palm tree road with those real raybans on for the driver and the know it all girl; she tried them on like she could buy them in gold while the rest of us searched our sun-kissed brains for some plastic rims; luckily, I had just bought a set in all colors, sixteen, cherry pop singers.

You’d keep drumming on that steering wheel, turning up the song in sleek motion, for Daniel is traveling tonight on a plane, sadly, were just going to get some ice cream while the car’s headlights aren’t burning red this afternoon overshadowed by the muse of sorrow on the heart breakin’ Floridian plain; sadly this isn’t a place for the crawleys to play.