i walk slowly. and stare up in to space.
when i concentrate on my movements i feel like i'm gliding across the floor. every step is perfect and deliberate, the sway of my hips is in perfect accompaniment...
but i know from the outside, i'm not gliding, i look like a lost 5 y/o girl.
i drive quickly.
sometimes i'll take a corner in the milkcarton, and it's perfect. i don't have to slow down.. it doesn't groan or pop... it's like the car is an extension of my body and i have it perfectly under control.
but i know from the outside, it's an old beat up wagon. nothing sublime.
fuck being outside.