Wheels, tires, asphalt 
Spinning over white lines
Black eye throbbing from the night before
Whiskey sitting in the pit of my stomach
Ash in the tray dirty white shirt 
looping over shoulder blades
Bowie 1976
Don't know a single goddamn song of his 
Found the shirt on the beach
Needed a shirt, it fit. 
Take a hit, pass the stoke 
Press the pedal to the floorboards 
Tires squeak,
sand spits, gravel flies 
Another hit, cigarettes in ashtrays 
Wax on a long board 
Dented in barely holding on
Fabricated with polyurethane 
to hold its leash
Smell of salt, rising tide
Smell of caffeine, stale French fries and synthetic bath salts 
Ill stay in the water till 
my arms can't carry me


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