Warm breath of Route 66 blowing in your coppery hair, pushing sand at your exquisite eyelashes and onto your pretty tongue, exposed, getting sunburned from a pre-sneeze contortion, frozen..like cave people at the museum, behind glass. That’s how I’ll be seeing you for awhile. Don’t let them make you buy the breakfast for everybody. Excuse yourself to go the bathroom when that happens, and..go out through the bathroom window. I’ll be there, darling, waiting for you. In the Pinto. With ice-cream! ~c.