it was a formerly red seventy two chevy nova

the driver side floorboard had rusted hole that showed a dizzying view of the pavement flying by

a byproduct of salty ice prevention

also got the exhaust

so in the middle of the winter you needed a window cracked to pull the ever present combination of cigarette smoke and carbon monoxide into the atmosphere where it belongs

sliding back and forth on the long leather bench seat

seat belts were to be lost in the seat itself not used

he would snap

she would tear off the filter and light a fresh smoke and pass it over

a plastic coffee cup with a clip to hang off the door filled with pabst blue ribbon splashing as we hit a pothole filled with slush

bouncing off the cracked maroon to the filthy floorboard

the sleeve of government cheese

brown cardboard with the slid on top and a carton of powdered milk

a partial twelve pack in easy reach

the vertigo inducing fumes

a child’s version of paradise

the first night of ice we would venture down empty streets doing donuts

high on poison and living on the edge

in a formerly red seventy two chevy nova