Old cars. They have this kind of old car smell inside them that I find strangely comforting. I like old cars. Big, old comfortable things. Front seats the size of couches, simple but charming old radios, and those old dashboard lights.
I wanna go for a nice long drive. But I don’t even need to drive. I want someone to drive me. I wanna see the trees go by my window all day while I sit back in my seat, and daydream. Turn the radio on. I’ll open my window a bit when we’re out of the city. Head south.
Drive me until the maple trees fade into Joshua trees, and we’re in the desert. I’ll fall asleep with the sun in my face.
Photosophical 