M83 - Lower your eyelids to die with the sun

Being driven over the george washington bridge.
6am with new friends to my right
and a beautiful night behind me
as we float along listening to the tail end of M83's best album
with aching lungs from double apple hookah
and burning throats from makers mark whiskey served in tea cups,
and an open window from where I ash my hand rolled cigarette
and a purple lighter that gets handed back to me by
someone who cried on her 12th birthday,
because that's when she realized she wasn't getting her Hogwarts acceptance letter
reminds me of every time you've jumped in your mid 90's economy class car
with a backseat full of brown boxes
and a passenger side seat where no passenger rides
and left me with the unbelievable task of simply accepting.

And in that memory that I was having
as I got further lost in my own thought,
thoughts of when the carbon monoxide faded
and I could no longer see the glowing red lights
from the back of your vehicle
as I was standing in the middle of your dirt and gravel covered street,
all I felt was a hand touch my shoulder
and a whisper in my ear of

"are you ok?",
and I was back inside of that 1996 toyota corolla,
that seemed to take flight at the 01:05 mark on "Lower Your eyelids to die with the sun"
and in all honesty, I was ok, finally.