For the hours that we drive, we are caught in a protected net of time—no decisions need to be made just yet, no choices are sneaking up on us. There’s nothing we need to do or be other than here, now, and looking ahead.
Some would say it was catching up,
but it was like saying hello again
because every time we drove the California freeway
in your car
it was like being home again.
We know what needs to come first. We know what needs to be handled first. We know what requires our attention first.
You’re not late because you’re slow or relaxed, you’re late because you took four wrong turns and went the wrong direction for three miles.
Lesson #1: You cannot be afraid to pursue things that don’t make sense.
There is a faint odor you can’t quite place. You wonder if it’s you. “Am I dead?” you ask yourself. “Is this what limbo is like?”
My ever so silent, battery powered electric toy offers me solace after a hard day’s work and makes me smile more than expensive cologne.
“Take me! Take me!” Natalya cried repeatedly, her long legs splayed on top of mine, her firm loins girding for gratification.
I can log up to three hours sitting in the driver’s seat per weekday commute. If I was doing the math, that’d surely add up to quite a bit of time holding a steering wheel.
One time my mom and I got into a car accident of sorts. It wasn’t particularly violent or dramatic, it was just bizarre and one of those things after which you think, “Well, how often does that happen to a person, and what if, what if, what if?”