Day after day.
The sun set at 4:31 yesterday and that was the time when I got in my car to drive home for the night. After navigating around the groaning construction sight that had overtaken my street, I was on Route 18. The sky turned deep purple to black within the forty minute drive. As darkness settled all around me, bright lights reflected into me from cars, signs, stop lights and the winking lights on the tips of airplanes far away. All of these colors seemed amplified by the transparency of a mild sky. Noise and neon lights ricocheted between my windshield and myself.
I moved like a machine. My feet and hands through thoughtless movements led me home.
I let my mind wander aimlessly along the highway.
Driving is the cheapest, loneliest form of escapism that I have. It is just enough to clear my head. Sometimes I marvel in my recollection of a drive: I recall the mechanics of my body as I get in the car, close door, start engine, move... Then remarkably I often feel as though my next cognizant action is my hand slamming the car door shut as I arrive at my destination.
How did I get here?