On a charter bus back home
Fading westward into the night,
The girls were being mean
Just as they always are.
There was dirt under my nails
Unfinished business left in a river,
All turning into rust, human red.
It was our last time out of our element
But still in the same family,
A chemistry called intimacy from laces crossed.
The future on a present string, the memory's not lost.