image – Unsplash / Caroline Gutman
I’m sitting in a minivan in the middle of southeast asia. Next to a boy covered in tiger tattoos and a grandma with no teeth. The heat makes us stick together, makes me intimate with strangers I’ll never see again. With people whose names I can’t quite pronounce. We’re at a gas station and the driver is leaning against the car, pointing to a sign I’ll never be able to read. To me, they don’t look like letters.
To me, they look like the wisps of dandelion seeds dancing in the afternoon sun. A young boy lifts the front hood of our van and unscrews the cap and his sweat drops in with the gas he pumps. We’ll carry him with us wherever we go. The toothless grandma smacks her lips together, her gums not quite touching, and I put my headphones into my…
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