Because I like to be reminded of the people I know at every exit. I breathe in their memories each time I pass, with the windows down, and I can feel the ghosts of our pasts breeze through my hair.
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.