|
|
Saturday, February 19, 2005
So let me set up the scenario for you: it's dark, but it's not late. It just feels late because I'm in one of those moods thar makes me lose track of time. I'm driving my car, there's a soda in my cup holder, and various emo is playing over my speakers.
I've been to two Wal-marts, I've eaten a lot of pizza, and I honestly have no idea what I'm doing. I have no center at that moment. I'm thinking about people I know, people I knew, what the future holds, but it's all like a whirlpool: the sides are there, but the center is empty.
The emptiness syays with me as I drive down Kings, wondering what I'm doing. The traffic is light, and the cuffs on my jacket are itching my wrists. I pass a row of houses and I know somweone special lives there, but I keep driving.
I take the long way home so the radio can play its eternal melody. I'm wondering what it's like to be a radio, having to constantly play music, acting as though it's excited, as though it cares. Am I a radio?
It's darker, now, because civilization has gone from boil to simmer. Only the street lights show the way; there are no houses nor stores. I pass what I'm sure must be an old tree, and I want to carve my name into it. I don't have a knife. We never have knives.
I pull into my neighborhood, looking for foxes. They dart accross the road sometimes when it's late, even though I know it's not late. I've convinced myself that it's late, because I feel at ease in the late night. I can control the tempo of the night, making it as calm or as loud as I feel the situation calls for.
The situation doesn't call for foxes. They aren't out, mocking the armadillos. See? We can cross the road without getting hit by a truck. Why can't you?
I pull into my driveway, and resolve to never again eat pizza and listen to emo late at night when it's not really late at night.
But I know I'm lying.
Comments
(1)
« Home |
|
