Driving Home

The despair that oozes through the car is thicker than the smoke that he exhales slowly
So slowly
He tells me things have to change and he tells me how they will, but ten minutes later he's doubling back again
He blames our parents, God, the police, his friends, this town, this fucking marked car
I can barely see out of the windshield, the splattered bugs and bullshit are too dense
"I'm just a compulsive liar, man. And, I get away with it."
His bloodshot eyes roll into the back of his head as he talks, as if even they want to escape this fucked up life
I try to tell him how I feel, but he already knows
"It's been fucking family all day."
Somehow he says it in a way that sounds like agony and ecstasy
I know there's some hope here, but I think it's lost somewhere in the glove compartment