I sit here affixed to the backseat.

The driver never tells me where I am going.

I never knew where I was to begin with anyway.

Kidnapped straight into my body.

It’s just a shame.

Shame that I make such poor company for myself.

The driver never seems to talk after all.

I remain stuck in the backseat looking out of the window.

Maybe I will recognize something.

A place or pattern I have seen before.

So maybe I will know what lies ahead.

But part of me believes that I might not want to know.

Everything looks so much different from the backseat.

Maybe I would rather just sleep.

The driver breaks the silence back here anyway.