She always wondered why I smoked too damn fast: the blunt nestled between my lips after puffing a couple of o-shaped rings out with ease, her chocolate orbs on me as her feet clung to the dashboard, and my rosary hanging from the mirror as Johnny Cash sung something about Jesus again. We were headed to Nevada and the road there was pretty bleak, only diners every couple miles out and gas stations where we filled up the tank and collected a few of our favorite gas station wines.
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