On my way from DC to Manhattan, the sky an odd indigo. Got some donuts from the local bakery, which I'm munching on. Some girl sits next to me. After a couple hours she dozed off, and I whisper to her: "You might be stardust, but you're no nebula." She can't see the window through my silhouette. I hate that inky nothing, I hate that shadow, I hate that silhouette.