Tag Archives: fear


Lighting his cigarette, the man rolled down his window letting the vacuous night  fill the cab. Swerving minutely, the vehicle’s jerk reminded him he was drunk. It also broke his reveled, yet tangential thoughts of things came and gone. Following the white and yellow lines without much involvement, the road’s past busied his mind. The pavement rolled over mounds to big to want to move as incandescent light pocketed portions of the adjacent sidewalk. The truck’s movement was determined by this crust of civil society. Road and vehicle bound together by purpose with all the infrastructure in place: wires, sewage, and pipes placed methodically to service the people’s more banal bodily functions. And despite his need to adhere to it’s qualities, as it could easily destroy him, he knew the road was not invincible. In fact, it was likely younger than he with an awkwardly simple composition. Rock, sand, tar, and water mashed together to make his and many other’s way home. Some guy, it didn’t matter who, put these few things together for the benefit of his self righteous epiphany of need, society, and matter. The shame would come from his annoyance at losing the buzzed idea to fear of harm. It was his pussy footed character to claim such insight and loose it once faced with his more banal emotions. He was incapable of connecting these ideas with the arrogant entitlement of the modern driver. Such irony would, of course, be left to someone who thought the ordeal beautiful and, consequently, noteworthy. The story, truly told, depicted a time where things were separated; man and earth, beginning and end, action and thought.
With the cigarette snubbed out amongst those of the past, the window went up taking with it the last few shreds of smoke that lingered. Now both hands on the wheel and mind off the road, he put his attention to getting home without the risk of spacing off. Calculating how he might appear to a cop, he sat up and managed the pedals with the grace of a composer. Complete stops, blinkers blinking, he now maneuvered the road as if it didn’t have a past. It’s function was bare and boring in comparison to his goal or life for that matter. It’s strange existence, temporal and implicative, was replaced by his own. In this way, the road was used anew. With an altered import, it fell in line with the tactile world of things immediately observable. Serving the masses humbly, the road had to await it’s eventual replacement not knowing if it would again be looked upon with true admiration. It sadly endured it’s even more melancholy commuters.
He pulled up in front of his house and released a sigh of anxiety riddled relief. Having completed his tumultuous journey of intoxicated reactions, he hurriedly gathered his things, stepped out onto the street, walked up his driveway, and lastly, locked the doors with his keychain. The truck gave out two unfitting chirps and fell silent save for the cooling crackles of the engine. The road and truck, left as separate devices, also relaxed and enjoyed the company of one another. At least until the morning, the two could remain outside their creators realm of rage and reason.

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