Autopilot

His own voice talks over his head, as if he were not there. The load car radio plays distant music. Without thinking, he changes channels, hears only the drumming road. His eyes are low lit, they see only feet beyond his gripped hands. Sunlight glares past thoughts, he swivels right, sidles left, soft shouldering unseen corners. He is listening to a memory, just a self-driving memory, The car jolts – returns him back behind his eyes. He is safe now from all those passengers he invited into his mind.