The street lamps are leading us home
An orange glow filled with beckoning
I barely know who you are
Or what you do with your time
--
That soft mandarin glow kissed her cheeks as her head rested against the rear window of the cab. Her eyes were scanning, grabbing and letting go of the incandescent windows sweeping by. The lines on the road skipped by under the wheels and the pedestrians were whisked away into the background like TV noise with a personality. The traffic broke down as though she personally was shooting the gap. Rain drops patiently ran their races down the outside of the window, broadcasting their results in an outline on her lips.
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