White Line Daydreams
Aug. 29th, 2013 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonRush hour down Memorial is no joke. Everybody's racing to get in front of me and those that do immediately decelerate from warp speed to leisurely cruise. Nobody's got time to signal a turn because there's no app for doing so on their phones yet. Roads pockmarked with craters or slabs of tire-puncturing steel toupees slapped over them ahead. MARTA buses lumber down the right hand lane, grazing passengers at each stop. Behind them school buses deploy screaming daredevil children in random intervals while pedestrians zombie stroll across the open lanes.
And in that moment I know why some people drink and drive. The same reason soldiers hit the flask before bolting out of the trench or into the charge. The same reason we drink before fighting someone bigger or fucking someone who's crazier than us. At some point you just have to say enough. The spectacle's out of hand and the social contract has become toilet paper for the collective masses to wipe their asses on. Next liquor store or bar - titty or otherwise - and you're going in.
I can sympathize, but a last second dodge of a yuppy tank bursting out of a gas station parking lot reminded me why that wasn't an option for me.
In fact, despite the Mad Max commute, I found that I was enjoying myself. Weaving confidently through charging herds of Mustangs and the frantic scurrying of commuter Bugs with ease. I zipped, soared, glided and flowed around the madness while adding not a drop of drama to the commute behind me. When I finally cut down US-23 towards L5P the radio blasted Cohen's "Ain't No Cure For Love". I sang along with a fresh cigarette and my left arm soaking up the sun.
Sitting here now, still soaked in sweat in some spots and forearms flecked with grass, I find it hard to believe. Somehow its only been a little over a year since abandoning my excuses, I finally learned how to enjoy something as simple as that moment.
Alright time for a swim.
And in that moment I know why some people drink and drive. The same reason soldiers hit the flask before bolting out of the trench or into the charge. The same reason we drink before fighting someone bigger or fucking someone who's crazier than us. At some point you just have to say enough. The spectacle's out of hand and the social contract has become toilet paper for the collective masses to wipe their asses on. Next liquor store or bar - titty or otherwise - and you're going in.
I can sympathize, but a last second dodge of a yuppy tank bursting out of a gas station parking lot reminded me why that wasn't an option for me.
In fact, despite the Mad Max commute, I found that I was enjoying myself. Weaving confidently through charging herds of Mustangs and the frantic scurrying of commuter Bugs with ease. I zipped, soared, glided and flowed around the madness while adding not a drop of drama to the commute behind me. When I finally cut down US-23 towards L5P the radio blasted Cohen's "Ain't No Cure For Love". I sang along with a fresh cigarette and my left arm soaking up the sun.
Sitting here now, still soaked in sweat in some spots and forearms flecked with grass, I find it hard to believe. Somehow its only been a little over a year since abandoning my excuses, I finally learned how to enjoy something as simple as that moment.
Alright time for a swim.