Purgatory Is A Buick: My Childhood On The Road

Photo by Tim Mossholder from Pexels

I remember long stretches of backseat imprisonment. Wind sound eternal. Hiss of wheels on pavement. A vague aroma of vomit.

They say you can never quite wash the smell of corpse off a futon. This is true. You also can’t wash out of my head the smell of my youth stewing in a hot car.