projector
when we were younger the world was a film. i remember my father taking me for drives in the night. my eyes were sleepy, blurring the street lights into many suns. i followed them to their deaths far behind us and i pressed my fingers against the cool glass, wanting to feel the outside air. we drove through the city and watched in awe the buildings standing miles above us. so high clouds circled the tops and you could touch the sky from the roof. it was all so foreign and interesting. i watched the road below and the shop windows and gardens and thought, i’m really in all these places, it isn’t just a movie playing on the windows of the car.