an old hearse (tan), tired girl working a graveyard to 9am shift - happy for the job I guess/ smoking her cigerette in the early fall chill, milk cart as an off hand seat / lost in thoughts, perhaps - but what are they?
Dreams - does she have them, or just trying to survive.... the hearse is back, low on oil, engine ticking and now she has company / I'm leaving now - not because I have to but because I should. This is someone else's time, someone else's life and not mine
