93 words: This World of Our Own

We pulled apart doughy naan bread, placing the morsels on the inside of our cheeks. I stuck my feet out the passenger window, leaning back in my seat. The tank of gas would cost us tomorrow’s breakfast but that didn’t matter. Ben Kweller played softly on the radio and I gave silent thanks that I no longer loved like I was thirteen. The road between where I was and where I was going seemed shorter now. My hair whipped over my face, the world appearing before me in flashes of dark and light.

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