Recycled, reused, whatever

I came to hate parking lots.
Row upon row of cars and me without keys.
I wove in and out of the junkers and shiny ego trips.
All of them locked up tight.
I thought about the sound of leather and the taste of dashboard dust,
while I examined the soiled soles of my sneakers.
Maybe I could learn to jimmy locks.
Pedestrian poverty making my palms itch, I tapped at windows waiting for alarms or a longshot.
I wished I knew how to hot-wire.
I dreamed of asking for directions at a greasy little gas station.
Then driving a random path and reaching my destination anyway.
All I could feel was the echo of engines.
The sound of their cooling like the ticking of clocks.
The temptation to lie in the middle of the road can be overwhelming when you have such a long way to travel.
I sat on a curb considering the weight of my shoes.