Driving stone-faced from your office in the suburbs to your home in the city
Bran Van odes to small-town supermodels drift from behind the face of the 8-minutes-fast clock in your dashboard
Turn off the AC
Roll down the windows
Turn up the stereo
Splash your face with wind and the smell of tractor-mowed grass and road-killed skunk mingled with motor oil and exhaust

Turn down the stereo
Roll up the window
Turn on the AC
Answer the buzzing from your hip and try to stay in your lane, down shift for upcoming traffic and cradle the phone between your shoulder and ear

Work Talk
No, I’ve left the office
Work Talk
Work Talk
Have a good weekend
Work Talk

Turn off the AC
Roll down the windows
Turn up the stereo
Change lanes and accelerate around the petrified driver three cars up as you catch the first glimpse of the river below and the glow of the setting sun glinting off a kayak's wake

Unload the car onto your shoulders
Glance at un-mowed square of yard
Open door
Drop load on floor
Up stairs
Change of clothes
Check the watch
Check the mirror
Out the door

Walking through the streets past
tanned college joggers
a big green chair
designer shops
falafel joints
blooming magnolias
traffic lights
and ragged men asking for change
back down to the river
Boats with faceless people dock near the music and bustle streaming from the bars

New Bar
More Friends
New Friends
More Drinks
More Music

Your phone rings, but you don’t hear it

The ringing has been drowned out by voices

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