what constitutes a road trip

consider: the dead leaves of summer. they blow down the highway, in the aftermath of a glistening black camero. panther-like, piloted by one of america's million misanthropes, never had anywhere to go yet in a rush to get there.
a lifeless head lolls against the grimy window; the hair is partially sucked by the voracious force of air escaping the car at such speed. fine curls of smoke as thin as hair flicker through the dim light. the only reason i know we're not in hell is because hell isn't this cold.
introduce an element of chaos; my brother, his face stern, drives and drives and drives. any hair he had before has been burnt away. i know this to be true, because the acrid stench still hovers in here. dark lenses hide what i know to be equally stern eyes. this i am grateful for. his pale sea green irises spook me. taut musculature jumps under his skin every time he moves.
introduce the source of the only noise puncturing this disturbingly cold night; draped artfully across the backseat with blanched skin glowing, a girl notes everything she sees into a small black dictaphone. her lack of colour turns her into the moon in the universe that is us.
the boy she leans against is asleep and curved s-shaped into the back of the car. a lit cigarette splutters ash onto his collar as he snuffles.

we've been driving together for just over three hours, to my best estimation. the buzz from the red bulls and cheap speed drained us, and has left us flying along this highway so nervously. we are an ant ascending the thinnest string on a harp. our commitment to this lack of structure has left us unable to stop.

skip to a week ago; my brother's hair is still in tact. always such a source of attention, being so thick and honeyed. i don't know these other two yet. i had been to the doctors, for reasons now unimportant. the doctor was a man so clipped i could hear the punctuation in his voice. his hair was brushed aggressively to one side, creating a plastic sheeny layer across a pockmarked scalp.
'so. you've been. feeling. sick?'
'to my stomach. like food poisoning'
'have you. to your. knowledge. eaten any. out of date. food?'
'if i knew i'd done that why would i come here'
truly, a boring encounter that left me dry.
the rest of the day was spent effectively, although i don't remember how. all that sticks out in my mind any more is my brothers hair, and where it went. an insistance that nothing happened and that he shaved it away has made no difference to my theory that he's fucked up real bad and that's probably why we're here now.

fast forward to now; the boy i don't know is waking up in the realisation that his shirt is a little bit on fire. patting it gently until it smoulders, he says 'goddamn alison, you know fuckin loud you talk? can you hear yourself talk? i'd be surprised if you couldn't cause you're so fuckin goddamn loud.'
the very blonde girl looks momentarily indignant, before succumbing to the realisation that she is the only sound we've been listening to for hours. if she's even slightly embarassed by the attention then she's not showing it. her brashness is apparent; she's wearing something not unlike a leotard, save for some half length legs attached to it, and it's an acid washed lime green. very violent. her bony knees buckle as she folds herself origami style into the opposite corner of the car to the smoking collar guy. i find myself wondering if they're dating.
'well someone has to document this auspicious occasion, and if that someone has to be me, then so be it'
an indulged and toothy grin takes up the lower half of her face, pushing her snub nose upwards and crinkling up her baby blue eyes. she's not ugly, but she's certainly interesting to look at. when she grins, her moon glow intensifies.
her conversation partner rubs his head all over, flipping it over briefly to scratch at the back of his neck. he is unaware that the cigarette in his mouth sits burnt down to the filter, seeing as he lit it before descending into unconsciousness.
'you know, you always find something stupid and pointless to say. how do you do that? i mean, we're in a car in the middle of nowhere and you're turning it into some epic drama.'
'couldn't we be anywhere rather than nowhere?'
'what?'
'i'd rather be anywhere than nowhere. anywhere has more potential than nowhere, so, like, if i'm anywhere, then i could be aaanywhere... you know?'
'god, you say some stupid shit sometimes'
with that, indignance gets the best of her and she turns to the window to quietly discuss the dick of the guy next to her and how small it is with her black dictaphone. i notice how acerbic her tone is, and think about the one-sided nature of her discussion.
'where are we man?'
this latest sluggish comment is, i assume, aimed towards my brother.
' you heard alison, man. we're anywhere.'
my brothers voice, despite being quiet, has a disarmingly penetrative nature. even when it's the quietest in the room, it's still heard the loudest.
' fuck, man, i mean seriously, where are we?'
the answer he received clearly wasn't what he wanted, so he reinvigorates his previous statement with the intention of something different this time.
a profound silence gestates in the small amount of air between us all. it's kind of electric, and kind of a threat. smoking collar guy is visibly growing more and more agitated, and alison the moon girl is still muttering in a concentrated manner in her corner. she's admiring the dusty cactuses we're driving past; she thinks they're beautiful.
'jesus, everyone in this fucking car is a fucking asshole. she's talking to herself, and you're just ignoring me like shit, and i don't even know who this fucking chick here is but she hasn't said a fucking word man. this is messed up.'
i realise that no, i haven't.
smoking collar guy has exploded in a carnal and emotional speed-addled mess. i can see his mental guts all over the window.
'that's paulette. she's my sister, man, so don't be a dick to her.'
i'm suprised that smoking collar guy hasn't realised we're brother and sister. although, the lack of hair on my brother probably diminishes some similarity. looking the way he does, you'd think he'd just left a naval base or something, even with his big dark glasses and suspiciously (smoke?) blackened vest.
'well whatever, she still hasn't said shit to any of us. what, you think we don't deserve your words or something?'
'leave her alone. you're such a jackass sometimes. in fact, no, my proportions are screwed up.. you're ok sometimes; you're a jackass most of the time. ignore him pumpkin, his balls are all whacked out of order cause he's not in charge of the road trip'
alison the moon girl has acknowledged me. her sheeny shiny gold eyes reflect in the wingmirror next to me. she must be an albino, because her skin is so white that i can see the network of veins in her goosepimpled arms. her hair is just as white, but she's pencilled in her eyebrows real thick and dark. it's kind of adorable, because either she's hoping people would think that's her natural hair colour and she chooses to colour it white, or she's proudly creating a conflict that challenges people when they look at her. either way, i like her.
'it's not a fucking road trip. road trips mean driving to florida or somewhere and staying in a crappy motel and eating out of vending machines. road trips need creedence tapes, badly folded maps and gross melted candy. this is not a road trip'
smoking collar guy taps his foot amidst the junk that carpets the back of the camero. despite being an asshole, he's intriguing too. again, i wonder if it's the passion between these two that sparks into conflict, or if they just genuinely have that much spite towards each other. it's kind of sexy to watch.

(unfinished)