She is driving 80 miles an hour on country road, passing me like I'm standing still
. But traffic, even out here, forces her to come back to me, and we ride parallel for a while. She is putting on mascara
in the morning and I wonder if she had a late start-
or if she just used to the extra time for sleep- OK, one more snooze-that's it. .
He is driving his pickup at a high rate of speed, but it's hard to calculate because he is weaving in and out of traffic. He has a three wheeler in back, but no dog. He is heading back into town so maybe he has to meet someone, but lost track of time out in the woods, racing up and down creekbeds looking for good hunting spots and camping sites. Now he is making up for lost time- a quiet country man racing into town- I am sure the paradox does not occur to him.
She is standing in line at Subway, quiet and serene. She is not bothered and anxious as the 60 minutes away from work ticks away- she is not in a hurry. She is tall and young, trendy blouse and new-"made to look old" bellbottoms. Around her ankles, and I had missed this at first, were tatoos. They encircled each ankle like bracelets-bright bands of colors, like native american art. As she moved toward the front of the line she stood out like a peacock in a chicken farm. I think she knew this. Her smile betrayed her pleasure.
Yes, this is how I pass the time.