Like the dying embers of a cigarette butte, my life was cast into the wake of a tractor trailer. How brightly I burned in the flare-up as I collided with the black asphalt. Like a promise of something more, people would follow me into the darkness. And yet, I thought, if only I could lead myself like I truly were a torch, then maybe things would be different. But eventually, when the breeze turned tempest became too much for me, when I had choked the life out of the lungs of tomorrow, I simply ceased to exist. My ashes scattered as lifeless and useless as though I never were. My only color, other than gray, was the lush red of a cheap lipstick imprint on the filter. Her name was Sadness, but man, could she suck a drag. I could still hear the sound of Hank Williams blasting from crackling speakers as the truck rumbled into the veiled curtain of the next show. It was always the next show because my show was over.