Lemon Juice

The moon was behind the hills and we drove beneath their shadow. Hanging above us, glowing, it looked like a slice of orange, like the kind I used to stick in my mouth after soccer practice and suck out the juice, but not chew because it was always too big to chew.
Always just threw the drained peel to the ground.
I lean back in the passenger seat and look up through the windshield at the slice of light above us and I am worried and I wonder if I bit off more than I can chew in this place.
Not like I haven't bitten off my fair share of choking bites before. This might be different, I think.
There is no more light in our world, as we drive, save for the beams from our headlights, leading the way.
We're through the fog and shadows and around bends and down the hills and I think that this could all be very symbolic, but I'm not one for symbolism.
I look more at the moon.
Taking out my digital camera I wish I had a better camera to take better pictures.
If I knew how to take pictures.
I wish I had and I wish I knew.
Maybe I'll need a fork and knife, but this looks like one I'll eat with my hands.
I taste lemon juice in my mouth as we keep driving.
I always like adding lemon juice to water and am suddenly thirsty.