Didn’t put any of the cheap hubcaps over the tires, the type dudes on the block got before they could afford real rims, the type that would lose their shine at the end of summer but if you caught them in June the beams of sunlight or moonlight or any light would sprint off of them, reflecting one hundred new illuminating vessels, sometimes splitting into a chorus of color, and so no one really cared that they weren’t real rims—what is real and not real is sometimes simply a matter of who is witnessing the miracle and who can be tricked into a suspension of disbelief at the altar of light.
