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A story unfolds with the words that flow,

 the beats from the music outside hurts my

  head.  A drive in the country brings emotions

   never expected.  And I wonder where all the animals

    have gone. Open the window and get in touch with nature.

My left leg hurts as I try to ignore it.

 But that never works, I know.  The pen and

  paper is a hundred miles away when the thoughts

     come fastest.  It's easy to speed when there's no

      one around.  A lullaby is attempted for those who are forgotten.

I'm missing civilization and wonder where

 I am.  Hunters are human and I can see them

  in the woods.  Bright orange crosses as I speed

   by.  Prayers for those that are hunted. I remember

    the faces of young children on TV, the victims of mass

media.  And they sing their songs of naivete.

 Bright colors and bright faces. Who knows the

  difference?  My radio fuzzes out, the hills block

   the signals.  Beethoven's songs I can't remember, although

    I try.  I used to play the one-hand versions during my childhood

lessons.  But that seems so long ago now.

 The sun has vanished beyond the hills and my

  eyes adjust to the darkness.  Every mile is one

   away from home, but I don't realize this, I've lost

    my map.  Hours seem to pass.  Oh, it's the familiar sign

of a franchised coffee shop, and the mood

 is gone.  But I do know I've seen these streets

  before.  I'm a thousand miles from home, or so it

   seems that way, and I couldn't be happier.  The garish

    lights of this city are actually refreshing for the first time.

I have to concentrate on street signs and

 I can forget the trees in the woods.  I stop

  at a red light and a man crosses the street in

   front of me.  I catch his eye and for a moment he's

    him.  He looks away, and he's across the street now.  I

laugh out loud, but my heart is beating

 faster in my chest.  It's just a coincidence

  that he has the same haircut, and the same coat.

   It's just a coincidence; he had different eyes anyway.

    So I keep driving and I fear stopping.  I'm afraid to see him.

But I drive by his house anyway.  It's dark

 now and I can just make out the number on his house.

  Well it used to be his house, he's moved out by now I'm

   sure.  These thoughts aren't good, so it's time to return

    to nature I think.  Where has the freeway gone?  There are

piano notes on the radio now.  It's simple

 and startlingly beautiful.  The girl begins to

  sing her song, she is singing to her lover, and her

   words are so true.  Then I suddenly see the off ramp. I

    smile and wish I could hear that song over and over again, it

seems to guide me.  I bet she's never had her

 face on the television. I bet her music is her own,

  and I wonder how I had heard it in the first place.  The

   announcer tells me her name, and I memorize it.  Oh, the big

    city has hidden fantastic radio programs; I had forgotten that.

But I am speeding away for different reasons.

 There are fewer lights out here, and more trees,

  and my headlights can't seem to cut through the darkness.

   My radio is gone again, and I see no cars before or behind me.

    I squint at the glowing blue clock and the lateness tells me why

I see no one around.  School bus accidents

 only happen in the day.  Bright orange buses

  filled with innocent faces.  "These precious things,

   let them bleed, let them wash away," that was what the

    girl had sung.  It's funny how my thoughts are entwined

with hers.  There are no late night record

 stores along this dark stretch of highway. There

  are no gas stations either I realize. The needle claims

   I have only fumes left in the tank.  I continue until I no longer can.


where the words are

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