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
Bye
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
Park
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
Friends
Drinks
Music
Food
Drinks
Music
New Bar
More Friends
New Friends
More Drinks
More Music
Dancing
Your phone rings, but
you don’t hear it
The ringing has been drowned out by voices