The streets creak reluctantly awake.
Scurrying hurrying by go the vehicles of
salesmen and bankers, movers, shakers, makers of things, their
headlights stabbing yellow knives into the sleeping flesh of
night, shuddering merciless into the still rumble
waves of engine growl. These are the
drivers of cars and economies, every effort matters, every
pedal pushed, gas or brake, timing is everything, and everyone hurtles along
together foreignly fast, envelopes already pushing, shoving, as if
today only existed to atone for
what was forgotten yesterday. Sidelined and
sitting passive, watching waning peaceful dark, my car is parked and
silent, still dewed from evening rain and i
wonder how i might politely, gently, undisturbedly
decline to drive anywhere this day.