We drove 500 miles and then 500 more.

Fast. We did it fast, all in one night. Desert looking like silk thrown over hills, silent soldiers raising arms to the sky.

On the ears of an abject people.

The top was down, the wind channeling her hair into bizarre shapes, we found a motel and food for sleep before the day could break.

The car strains, finding a beat in the movement of all things, forged by the stereo. Motion is a constant to us, California our goal.

Held up by Dali-sticks of our imagination.

Caught up in the lust for a new journey, actually getting there was not in our plans. I fall into the monotony of the road, the only difference between this moment and the next being the music. Being the music.

On tears of a greater cause than our own.

Engine cutting out, choking on dust and dirtied oil. We walk away, into the night. Making love in a small tent, letting dawn settle on our eyes for one time only. Saving ourselves by the warmth of the sun or the pure eloquent luck of the day, the car roars back to life, the next motel being much like the last.

Take this nickel / make a dime.

Carrying on by train. Stolen money for a stolen car. The track's hum and click. The beat of the music. Not quite meshing. We got off well before we ever meant to, one soul trudging with four heavy feet into the start of a new day and the dawn of a new life.