Do you think we're supposed to take it seriously so we won't be taught what serious is? She looks out the passenger window and resumes her count of the hell fire and brimstone billboards placed in the rock.
He turns down the radio, Did you say something?
She turns and looks at him. He smiles. Yeah, I guess I did. I was just thinking that sometimes it overwhelms me.
What overwhelms you? He focuses on the road ahead.
This feeling. This feeling that wonders how I could take all this so seriously when it all seems so absurd.
I get it. Maybe we all feel like that at times. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her knee.
She grabs his hand in both of hers, gives up the count, leans back against the door, pulls her knees in tight and his hand in close, But it's scary isn't it? Maybe if you think that too much you begin to realize you don't belong anymore. It feels alone.
His thumb breaks free from her grasp, follows the line of her chin. He looks at her, You're not alone, baby. You got me.
Yeah. Okay. She lowers her lips and kisses his hand, places it on his knee, turns the radio back up, looks out the window and begins her count again.