mystery Van (go)

The sun streams through the sunroof and windows, lazily rolled down, as the heat permeates the cracked leather interior beneath the small pools of trickling sweat beneath my legs. The particles of earth visibly floating in my atmosphere in the beams of sunshine, screech Van Gogh, poor fellow who'd drink yellow paint to get the happiness inside him. That makes me so sad... and the scenery! flashes by as intangible as that flashy neon glee'd been to Van G. 

Slowing down over the shoulder, you pull over and soundlessly, we get out of the car and immerse in the barren cracked earth, in the sense that what is beneath us is still the cars interior. The ground takes us places too, but not time consumingly. The ground- it's a portal. Standing arms outstretched beside me I pray open arms to beam me up. I am lunatic.