Friday morning. July 17th. 77° F. 8:10 am.
Traffic? A lava flow.
I’m in the center lane between two tractor trailers. Behemoths. Wall to wall.
The Mind, a Raccoon, ever searching, digging, anxious.
Its beady eyes darting.
Its sharp claws twitching, digging in sh*t they shouldn’t be digging in.
Shiny tinsel flashes from the morning readings.
Fulghum: The examined life is no picnic.
Remarque: The less a man thinks of himself the better he is.
And on cue, Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds strum their guitars to open Dancing Nancies.
Could I have been / A parking lot attendant
Could I have been / Lost Somewhere in Paris
Could I have been / Anyone other than me
A parking lot attendant? First job. Gas station attendant.
Paris? I’ll take just being in Paris, just once, lost or found.
And, ‘Could I have been / anyone other than me?’
Now, that is a question.
A copper colored Tesla jams his nose in the wee gap in front of me. I close the gap, with my nose within inches of his door panel. The mini cameras on the bumper trigger the sensors: Warning. Too Close. Too Close. He turns left to see my grill, and me, feeling the blast of natural heat. Oh, you know what you’re doing Friend. Save electricity with your Tesla. Burn me up. [Read more…]