There’s a little laughter in your voice as you look down the night road from behind the safety of your windshield, speaking of little liquids in blue bottles for another night that pry your body away from the future and pull your mind from the past. Headlights of different colours come sliding towards us as the spotlight thrashes around, searching for its performer. Hands clutching the seatbelt, my eyes will close but there’s still a thumping in my chest. It’s an infinite opera, and we all know it’s not over until the skinny girl sings.
The empty bottles will reflect the headlights, like little blue moons on the side of the road, and all the marionettes will drive past without a moment for feeling or a second glance. Wooden limbs tied to clear strings, they’ll all preach stories of freedom from behind cubicle walls and steering wheels with circle symbols in the middle. It sounds so good when all that hears you is an empty passengers seat, it looks so good on paper. But then, in the final chapter all it leads you to is throwing empty bottles from speeding worlds of luxury, passing by once in a blue moons, until the plastic strings that hold you up are finally cut.