Getaway money wrapped up in worn-out rubber bands
And stockpiled in old cigar boxes
Silent slumber broken by five alarm clocks scattered across town
Ringing in sync
Stuffed backpacks and duffle bags
Thrown behind shoulders like protesting flags
Misty eyes glancing back as they slither out of windows
The voyage’s vessel comes to a screeching halt
One by one they pile into seats
Passing through forsaken streets
Mile after mile
Heading towards nothingness disguised as adventure
Their north star the never-ending broken lines
Painted down lonely highways
The only reminder of the outside
Is the faint voice on the radio
And truck drivers with their blinding lights passing rarely in the opposite direction
