Never fail to adhere to the rules of the road. Never refer to the world as a tomb. Never smoke a cigarette while riding your bike. Never drive a car with the man of your dreams. Never fall into a stupor after prayer. Never sip a shadow. Never hide shadows below your tongue. Never hide the shadows in the glove compartment. Never drive a car filled with shadows. Never drive a car that you wouldn’t let your sister drive. Never move to a new city for love. Never tell this lover “even a broken clock is right twice a day” and then say later, when asked, “I was only joking.” Never consider the antonyms for hour nor lust—though know they are different. Never have sex in a car unless you intend to sell it. Never lick the frayed veins of a rusted out Dodge. Never tie a red ribbon. Never kick the tires unless you’re in a movie. Never drive a car with your heart. Never drive a car with your eyes closed. Never drive a car with your eyes closed after 4AM. Never drive a car with your eyes closed after 4AM on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Never think about smoke. Never speak while driving. Never speak. Hold the door open for your lover. She will remember this small affectation of yours fondly years from now. Keep your windshield clean. The soupy moon silvers the valleys when you open your eyes to the sound of truck horns. Do not acquire a taste for shadows.