College Night: the car is a doorEric Gelsinger
It was a late winter light I wanted to reach up under the nakedness darkness under a ceiling panel flicked off the light dirty magazines up there. Walked up more of stairs memory can't count, getting brighter all the time, turned the doorknob glowing around shadow and went out the doorway into night and road door. Faced a breeze rocking air like a cradle of streetlight, and inside, with brilliant furnaces in their lungs and beautiful, and they had delicate hands. Winter smells struck a low chord to my memory, maple, oak, and birch bare tree branches quivering mnemonically in tree-script's airy eldritch Ogham. While lung-like evergreens' shimmered in the back like electricity, the car woke sounds and rolled into the tunnel-darkness road, in my rearview, a flashlight beam in the wold woods. Where dark inhered in light. In the cracking cold, breath of light made the windshield, windows glow, heat jacked up full blast, rap bass rippling back-glass like liquid. The radio of light irradiated like a forge and the solid air melted to be shaped vision of everything transformed and breath and ash scorched side-view. The fluttering disappearing and reappearing of everything winking in and out, four headlights, and shining car shook luminescence ephemerally of trees' racks back and forth sway, window glare, street signs shone, cold rain to snow, earth, heaven gently touching, boy and girl face to face, like me shuffling off between curtains.
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