bilateral kellerberrin

Anne and I drove down to Cunderdin, perhaps for no decent reason. We talk pretty good while we’re driving along together in her noisy old van. I like the way you sit right up front, the windscreen vertical in front of your face, all her junk on the dashboard, the wind whistling through the passenger window which doesn’t close properly, and the left side lurching strangely like it needs a wheel alignment. Sure, it’s so loud you can’t listen to tapes at speeds of more than fifty, and having a conversation leaves you hoarse. But it feels like you’ve really gone somewhere.
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