Eighteen minutes left before we leave.
Didn't you set the car keys where I would remember them?
The earth is moving and I can't see the sun.
Not with these sunglasses on.
Where is your other ear?
Did you hear what I was saying?
This window is not going to go down.
I had it fixed last week.
Are you kidding me?
We're halfway there.
Are you going to get the keys or did you leave them by the gas pump?
Didn't you believe me when I told you?
No I wouldn't have known.
How would I have known that you need shades to see?
No, this isn't a time to argue.
But I heard you say...
One chance to go down to New Mexico in black leather jackets high on the night air, fixing to die on torn blue jeans that hug our knees like the riddles of ancient days. Slapping our thighs in time to jazz, wondering if our feet are too loud as we tap morse code lullabies in time to the pounding piano, heaving and sighing like a whale thrown onto a beach while the ocean roars out with its clattering sticks and snare drums, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, it never stops and it's not going to. We will have to head out the door whether we are ready or not.
We have no time left.