i fell behind on breathing, but i’m catching up and leaving as i’ve got a lot of ground to cover. the car is gassed up on a genetically modified, patent-pending, assortment of candy and the driver is, as always, under contract (among other things). he’s a little stressed out right now. the only way to really be sure that it’s stress and not something worse, such as a stroke or another drug-induced panic, is that in between dabbing the sweat on his forehead and calling me a “relentlessly indecisive cunt”, he also mentioned repeatedly that his ASD is acting up. so really it’s more that he said it than it is any quality observation.
theatrics withstanding, a quiet calm has come over me. street lights go in and out of the seat next to me and any apprehension relating to the future has been left at a rest stop somewhere in middle america. cars on the side of the road now only affect me in the same way any of you probably feel to learn that the carpet of a restaurant that you don’t really care about has an insubstantial stain tucked away beneath a table in the corner. slow motion is a gratifying accompaniment in this moment that, under normal circumstances, would be a completely acceptable reason (or excuse. envelope – envelope) to smash a window and use the resulting debris as a replacement for the pillow of a loved one… is now my newest spirit animal. at the last stop before reaching my destination i was told by the truckstop phantom that sam rockwell is the spiritual successor to gary oldman. there was a grand sense of understanding and comfort that came along with that statement, but an even greater sense of curiosity and a departure from the norm that was greatly appreciated.