Dreams on the Back Seat

There was trash strewn all over the floor of the passenger’s seat. Mostly bags from McDonald’s and such, though the occasional shriveled apple core and blackened banana peel. On the floor of the back seat, many blank canvases rested, gathering dust. His paint box was on the seat itself, along with a two half-finished paintings. He kept them there to show off, and with the idea that he could work on them anywhere, which really meant that he didn’t work on them at all. They hadn’t changed in the past year and a half, and he continues to get promoted at the revenue agency. He still tells people he’s an artist, and shows them the canvases, ghosts of a former self. The car itself is old and barely running, but it’s about to be replaced with a brand new vehicle, with power windows and locks, a sunroof, and an mp3 player. The canvases will move to the new car, where they’ll sit in the back seat for several more years.

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