We wind our way
Aimlessly, and yet off target
Knowing where to go
Knowing the path, the route
Traced on a map in shaking handwriting
And taking all minutiae of deviations
All possible tourist traps
Burning lotsa gas in a
big-assed American way
And sneaking back to the same carport every night
Discussing our wasted time while wasting time
With a friend, with Doritos and a heating pad.