DRIVING ALL NIGHT You see cars breaking down in the early morning, as if they had been driving all night. The smell, unaccountably, of popcorn and cologne, emitting from the driver’s side-door of one. The driver, who must have been the one eating, and wearing, annoyed by the company he had become used to not having. The silvery dark of pre-dawn, the nighttime mists that dissipate only when the world wakes up, like magic in a movie, do not hold this guy in their spell. His eyes are daytime eyes – frank, white, almond-shaped, undroswy. He would sleep later in blind-slitted daytime light.
ERIC ANDREW-GEE
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