We drive the highways parallel to the suburbs
because your dad is drunk and you didn’t want to be home tonight.
I have a headache,
the occasional streetlight is blinding to me,
and I fucking hate the smell of whatever smoke you’re blowing in my face right now
but we’re forty-five minutes from home
and not planning on turning back anytime soon.
I hand you the aux cord,
turn on my high beams,
and trust the double yellow lines to lead us to something safe.
E.J. Carnegie is from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and is writing whenever they aren't reading. They are a barista, poet, fiction and drama writer, and poetry editor of InkSounds. Find more of them on Twitter, @ejcarnegie13.