Waco in Texas

I stand here, under a sky thats too vast and too quiet, staring at the Hyundai dealership in Waco. Its not the grandeur I expected, just a long, gray building with a blue sign that screams new cars and financing, the kind of place that smells faintly of rubber and desperation. The red and blue balloons bobble uselessly in the wind, like forgotten party favors. I used to come here for something, once maybe to escape, maybe to begin. Now I just watch the cars, sleek and silent, lined up like prisoners waiting for a sentence they never asked for. The flags flap like banners of a funeral, not a celebration. The name Greg May is etched above the glass, a ghost in the frame. Its not a place that holds memories, its a place that collects them. I wonder what stories these cars have, what lives theyve left behind, and what lives theyre still waiting to start. The silence is heavy, the sky is too wide, and the dealership? Its just another empty space in the middle of Waco, Texas, pretending to be something more than it ever was.

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