Two figures crammed into the front seat, paint smeared like bad memories, laughter sharpened into teeth. The man grins like he’s been told a secret no one should know, the woman’s smile twisting as though the joke turned violent. Outside, the night simmers, drenched in Christmas lights— red, green, white— colors of festivity or warning. The tree behind them burns neon bright, a mockery of cheer in a car sinking like a stone into the deep dark. You’d swear they’re heading somewhere, but the road’s been swallowed. All that’s left is this: a joyless ride, faces lit by dashboard gloom, like ghosts telling jokes that no one hears.