I swerved one night
and headed westward
to brake nearby a filling station
where all the lights
were too damn bright
and the voice from the
FM radio was going too
damn fast

3.03 a gallon
and the ritual pack of
smokes tucked away
in the "borrowed" mohair vest

casual looks of
understanding
bounced back from the
nods & winks of other
highway ghosts

cheap suit bastards on
their way back home
suddenly not at all alone
and full of meaningless
questions

when the fuel had reached its fill
my reasons for standing
freezing in that sticky fog
became a blur
and dragging feet
toward the mandatory fee
I reached inside the stolen
pockets to find an emptiness
of awkward proportions
that stalled the situation
to a late night swearing binge

one night I swerved
to the westside of a whim
& if I had not forgotten
my wallet
by now we could have met.