I've been trying to think about anything but this,



or how we're missing towns, missing out, the exit's on this strip.



I've been wondering how or if we'll ever get to sleep 



because we're sixteen hours in.



This ride from Eric's house has been fucking up my shit 



because we stayed to watch the weeks new Office 



and now it's twelve a.m. in the dirty south.



You know we must be bored as shit 



because we're stealing form gas station and talking about how, 



Arizona's airport is called Sky Harbor.



I wonder if that's what the last song on Clarity's about.



We're saying it loud.



Get to the Falcon, it's three a.m. and were delirious.



Cheating on the Atlantic.



We're talking about pawning all our shit, 



buying wave runners and becoming pirates.



We've been falling apart; like Richie's got a brand new stretch mark.



Night drives start at Waffle House and end at WalMart.



We're breaking hearts of waitresses in seedy truck stops 



because Steve's shirtless, pounding beers in the parking lot.



We're taking naked pictures in the Utah desert.



"Yo man, I think that girl just saw your dick."



If this is our time, then the Denver Skyline 



is telling me to make up my Goddamn mind