So it ended up being a stolen crossing

with my vehicle considerably less weighted down.

Swearing enmity, I sped back to the fringe of my legally plotted part of creation, despairing, I drove, semi-secure with my one bag and a less truthful and more convincing story, I continued in search for a more friendly crossing. It was not long until I reached another door upon the road, one quietly traveled, dimly lit, and lightly attended, and they didn’t keep me coming back for more. Buoyant with joy and trepidation I my headlights bobbed through the dark Canadian night, miles transformed by malicious magic into a distance seemingly more lengthy in kilometers. Freed of weight of broom and box, tires featherweight flying over the tar, black face teeth shining white where my lights never shone before.
Thus hurtling through the night, time passed quickly but kilometers not so, I called my love to let him know—soon I’d be knocking on his door. But half past two and there’s nothing you can do, he’s gone to bed the sleepyhead, doesn’t think I’ll be there til the morning. Once more to come up to my lover’s gate, tryst missed it may be too late. Endless miles pumping dark unto darker’s door.

Fade twinkling depthless starlight, now matte venetian city-fright, buildings rise splintered and crystal out from the QE2’s endless explore. Weaving way through city at night, country girl steeped in fright, can’t find my fucking lover’s door.

Finally creep so quiet and breaking up to a building, not the Howard Johnson but some apartment, I mistake it bother the doorman, and am directed to the door. Enter ochre large room smelling strangely, like my lover gone away, bits and pieces of his body, laying strewn about the floor. Lover is gone and maybe not returning, I was too late and I am yearning for the fuck-frenzied reunion I expected to take place upon this floor. Nervousness abating, weariness resuming, I dress in more sluttish attire and retire to the shore. When is my love returning, maybe he stepped out for a moment, so I prepare my temple for my God to knock on its door.

Some of this is fact, but much is fiction and fantasy. Why should I say which is which?