sprint.

61 minutes.
down the the wire.

coffee in hand, the sun is shining off the porch and I'm ready (as I'll ever be) to put this town in my wake. minutes fly by and there's nothing left to do but wait for that deadline, wait for those wheels to send me away. "follow me back like a ride on a train, make it hard to remember the cold/ take care of your money and stay out of the rain..." the words echo deep, singing sirens of the days and nights we've spent sprawled on these streets.

I'll be back before you know it. but with just a over week's worth of nostalgia left to explore, the reality starts to sink in. nothing but time on our hands and our eyes to the skies, we're lifting off and ready for orbit. and as much as it hurts to tip-toe off these tiles for the last time, I've only got 11 days and 11 nights to soak it all into my system. then it's hats off, anchors away, with no time to look back.

I swear to these rooftops, and just hope that car will never stop *