Camilo Garcia La Rotta

Go, Ruby, Typescript and cheap poetry

Matane


Matane

Matane

The Honda Civic slides through the road
as the last rays of light hit the underneath of the clouds.
The windows cracks open and the wind gushes in
flooding the car with a salty mist.
We’ve been driving since dusk
and we know we won’t be able to continue for long,
but that’s ok. Nobody said Matane would be easy to reach.