106 Rewrite

Like the hills of Carolina, if they spoke. Like the coast, if it spoke. In an airport terminal, people watching to pass the time. The bar hasn’t opened yet and I’m still nursing an icepack. Packed on the floor. You woke up when I fell asleep. Always in the study, the dog around our legs, like heat, like sweat. And it’s been a while. I go for a walk, ask kids for a light. Hoping to find something, a scorpion, everything underfoot. the lake drains and we’re back again. My car breaks down outside of a brick shell, a restaurant. Got a jump. Wanted to give you a call, talk about Michigan, my brothers Michigan. Or Pennsylvania or the trip we never took, to Yosemite. I put it down. Now heels lodged in cobblestone, drink and pills, and all terrors of old. Where are we going?