The horizon has melded with the sky. Morning fog kisses the tops of the cornfields. The streetlights are nebulous, casting a soft loving glow. Traffic is slow. The road is slippery. I have to remember to steer into a skid.
The sky is so low today, I feel I am taking off into the stratosphere..the freeway my stairway to heaven. I don't want to go to heaven..it is going to be crowded. Don't want to go to hell..too hot and crowded. I want to be sea sand..scatter my ashes, please. An abyss in the ocean floor would be nice.
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