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You bobby-pinned your auburn hair back
As we crossed over the washington state line in my grandfather’s car
We were fleeing the scene of a california coast line,
Where we buried our dreams among the gridlock and concrete
Barefoot, we pulled off the road, and stepped into the summer night
And we drank greedily of greenery and open air
This was not the time or place to address
The emptiness that hung around us
Or how the end of this trip birthed us with uncertainty
Of what to do next
