The Double Shift Two faces carved from the same bad dream, Eyes hidden behind chrome and smudges, Grins smothered beneath helmets As red as warning lights. The Van hums— A floating tin can lit by cheap bulbs, A carnival coffin rattling through endless night. They stare out like soldiers waiting For orders that never come. Inside, time congeals. Outside, the road flickers— A jagged filmstrip of smoke and static, A punchline no one remembers, Laughter rotting in the walls. Together, they drive— Twin prophets of nowhere, Bound for some corner of the dark Where all good machines go to die.