Alaska

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smokes to die.

I run to live.

Yet we're both crazy.

Running away in books

is almost as great

as the real thing.

Except neither ever got me anywhere.

Neither will driving

without a sweet meal

of gasoline.

I pull into a truck stop.

And suddenly,

so many eyes

are scouring me,

undressing me,

feeling me up.

So I 'accidentally' slip down

a shoulder strap.

Hell, maybe won't have to drive.

Someone can do it for me.

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