Another Road TripToday was a dark day. The clouds blend in with the blackness of the sky, hiding away the moon and stars.
It's funny how babies cannot comprehend the concept of something existing beyond their plain of vision. For my brother right now, there are no such things as stars, but he lies calm and quiet regardless, because his father is just in front of him driving the car, and the stars aren't very important. It's just him, my father, and I, sitting in the tiny run down vehicle that has been kept running for longer than it should, barely capable of transportation, shuttering and heaving now and again in its old age.
My father, too, has become old; although, at the same time, he is not. There are crows-feet so deep around his eyes that I can see them in the dim light provided by the occasional streetlamp, and the bags underneath look more like bruises -they even puff out over his cheek bones- and are painful to see, but not so much as his eyes: Stained with angry veins and