There was no rush to do this or do that. The road and clock were ours all day. Conversation was plentiful and meaningful. We took our cash, filled our tank and dropped off a few to the library. We even hand delivered a camera or two to be processed. We looked at ads and talked of light and pillow talk. The stop for lunch was appealing and suffice. The salad was fresh and the burger was divine. We laughed and joked and talked about tomorrow. The innocence of magazine never made it past page 3 and the glance of wishful thinking and make believing only lasted a brief afternoon. It was so fun. The no attitude and the low altitude saved grace from interfering. The lost art of love can be a genuine art in itself. But who's keeping track of time? The gas station? The window dressing? The TV weatherman? I learn a lot of days gone by and pies in the sky. The sweetness of life is so tasty. A bite. A smack. We lick our chops and want some more. The walk of life is distant, but never far away.