Filth, grime, dirty fingernails and a cracked window for your cigarette. You’ve got bloodshot eyes and shit stained teeth. I can see those wrinkles that make your face sag like a scrotum from miles away. You fit the night like your clothes fit your persona. Because those slim-cut khakis are a bit too baggy. Street lamps ripple your face and your chapped lips that don't move more than a quiver as you watch your girl through the rearview mirror. She passed out in the back seat and is smearing make up on the felt interior. You are swallowing white lines and breathing familiar street dust all the way home.
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