being blithe

We’re flying down the A401 lit only by the headlights of the car and the moon. I think we're in the middle of nowhere and I’m thinking it wouldn't matter if we broke down now because we'd be together. She laughs that she can see "fuck all" in her rear-view mirror. She shouts to me about shipping her belongings over the beating wind from the window I have open. I’m her drunken curled up smoking passenger. She talks about the hypocrisy of the Vatican. We hit the M25 and then its reassuringly bright orange. I spark her up and I point out the speed cameras and we're heading home but I realise there is nothing here for me anymore. I’m more at content in the middle of nowhere with her.