It swells out like a giant storm, a roaring thunderstorm that brings only the noise and the violent light, but never rain. The base thumps through my car and I drive around high, high up in the clouds. I'm lost in my own head, floating in sticky sweet smoke and cigarette stained fingertips. I place my hand on the roof of my car as the world spins and I try to find my center. Is God listening to my fervent prayers? I inhale another drag and I blink wildly to try to clear my vision. Everything is fuzzy around the edges. I recognize it and when I reach out to touch things it seems as if I'm interacting with a mirage. It feels easier, less harsh than the thick lines and sharp cool of winter, but the danger sweeps through and everything smells like sin. I am very aware.