beater

I am like a car that's been beat to shit and still runs. my upholstery pulling apart. glasses cracked. my engine speaking out its gruff noise. with a world-weary look my paint is faded and i settle remarkably into the scenery. the untold miles visible in my lines of cracked leather. I am small and passed by on the highway by fresh and sparkling machines who know little of life and what it's made of. I push on through any inclement anything, wind, rain, snow. It won't be pretty but we will get you where you need to go.  #katyamills

six six

a camaro pulled up next to my vw gti on the freeway like they wanted to race. i turned my head to look but the windows were tinted. i'm probably twice the kid's age, i thought. they pulled away and you could hear the engine. i appreciate the offer. i rarely drive dangerous anymore but i did when i was a kid. i played my music loud and got amped up. this car i got now, she hits a hundred quick, just by stepping on the gas. i'm older now and i prefer cruising. but i like how she responds. will get me out of any trouble i might be in. i don't drive much anymore. i don't wanna go hungry. yesterday, thirteen gallons cost me just shy of a hundred bucks. right here in california.

#katyamills

sunday nights in america

I get an eerie sensation on a sunday night  standing on the precipice of the death of a weekend. I get the kind of rattled only a vanilla shake in an American diner can quell, listening to Elvis on the jukebox with friends, in a booth upholstered in automotive leather, flirting and killing off time.