My brain's Arcade Firing, firing and inspiring, despite--or maybe because of--this tin-can on the side of the highway, my home, Indiana, PA.
I dyed my hair black. Surprise! I'm not a hipster, just a Neil Gaiman fangirl who listens to bands that sing about strip malls and kids digging tunnels in the snow.
The car was a poor, stuttering beast, a salt-eaten dog with tires spinning in place until, suddenly, it was gone. A cartoon dust cloud lingered on the pavement.
In Pittsburgh, there's a High Street, or at least there was--kids kept stealing the street sign and hanging it in their apartments. I have a picture of a lily pond in my apartment, and a bottle of Gentlemen Jack on the mantle. I don't live in Pittsburgh. I live in Indiana, on Oakland.
I draw bone trees.
The sun is a window.
Ever run through the forest and pretend you're a wolf?
I'm still running.
Can we ever get away from the sprawl?