Crash

By Charlotte Knauth A left hand loose on the steering wheel, shiny silver band on the fourth finger. A deep grey stretch of asphalt ahead, and an expanse of dark sky above. The passenger seat was empty, the backseat home to only a backpack, keys, a bright red electric guitar, and a stack of love letters addressed to Michigan from California. His eyes trailed back and forth across the open shadowed space before him: empty empty empty as the clock ticked from pm to am. The driver wore a smile plastered wide across his face, as he looked to the picture scotch taped to his dashboard: the brown hair and the green eyes and the black jeans,