We finished the last of the work on top of the grassy hill
All the workers headed down the hill toward the small corrugated iton house
with it´s dusty wide carpark full of old unmaintained cars the owner accumulated
They waved and said they´d meet me at the new bar in town, the stairs.
Externally it was stylish and new age internally it was a common pub
Uncomfortable wooden seats, wooden bar, sarcastic charismatic barman
secretly serving himself once every half hour under the counter
I looked for my car in the dusty lot
Daniel and Roger had already taken off in their beat up ute
They didn´t bother waiting, I´d have to ask for directions
But I couldn´t find my car
Did I even come in a car or had I hitched a ride in someone else´s
Did I even have a soul or had I been reflecting someone else´s
The afternoon came and went dusk made it harder to see my car
There was no car there, just like there was no feeling from inside me
So i looked at the ominous long gravel driveway it called me
I started walking, my thoughts sequestered by the seven kilometers walk
ahead and down the hill and into Wellington city where youth and light shone
so without a car and without a soul to speak of, I plodded along
Acceptance of my lot, cheap wrapper with an expensive gift inside
maybe even evidence there was something to me.
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