something.

we packed ourselves in, the six of us, hoping and itching to find what we had set out for; looking out of the car window, i watched the clouds pull back to the empty landscape, the empty landscape open to promise and daydreams meet with a soundtrack of idle conversation and hissing wind. it was the dead of winter, a southern winter, and i had forgot to pack a hat and scarf. flow, a nickname launie had earned earlier that week after taking a job at a greasy spoon, none of us, not even dave, the poorest of us, was willing to take, but flow had fallen in love with a burger flipping line cook, and despite the groups incessant advice, had applied and been hired for the red eye waitressing shift.