Heartfelt

He sat in the back
of the car watching
the windows steam up.
His warm breath
seemed to be floating
back into his face
constantly, making it
feel greasy,
like he
hadn’t washed that
morning. It was hot
but he couldn’t wind
down the window;
he knew that would
set the alarm off.
He had to keep still,
and he had to hope
that whatever drugs
were still left
from the previous night
when he’d been pumped
full of them, might kick
back in,
at least if he could
pass out he might
forget how boring
death was
starting to seem.