Traffic In traffic at the end of the day, days filled with more push, stress that I should have to deal with at this age. Stupid, like getting old is some kind of promise. Between cussing the idiots and cows I hear music, true music the kind that instantly, sooths all. Its coming from the car next to me, loud but ever so soft. A women is driving, my interest peaks, I strain to hear-see what sooths, but she has her finger in her nose, traffic is moving and I cant ask her about the music or distract her from her task. The moment passed, solace must as always be my own. r
Posted on: Fri, 17 Oct 2014 05:02:01 +0000
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