Half of the time we're gone,
but we don't know where.
We don't know where.
In my car, this song is life.
I hear pointed distress, thick and devout.
Someone is leaving another less fortunate someone behind.
Deep breaths. Deeper breaths. The deepest breath I can take.
I drive and I dive.
Simon is Poseidon. I surf his sonorous wave; foamy indigo, quenching and swelling; suddenly ungovernable as the echo of Garfunkel's hypnotic and hoary backing vocal swamps me in its icy undertow and I am dragged beneath.
My throat closes. I pull over. I taste ocean salt on my face.
Garfunkel's mewl is no match for my own as I increase the volume to a level which requires absolute pacifistic surrender.
I caterwaul in a voice I barely recognize and then let my head hang.
I drown.
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