Driving Home From Work
The music stutters.
The CD that plays has been stuck in the car stereo for nearly two years. When I first inherited the automobile from my brother, I quickly made a mix CD of random songs to check whether the radio worked well. It worked fine, except that CD never again ejected. Which means that for the past two years I have been listening to the same 16 songs while driving. You bet I know every word to every one.
I figure that the CD has garnered some scratches from overuse, because the music skips and breaks briefly at certain points. But I don’t mind. It’s like having a personal DJ in my car.
A squirrel leaps from a bed of pine straw to bound across the road. Indecision. Flicking its tail back and forth. Tempting my hungry tires. But I swerve. Not because I am an animal-lover above flattening squirrels but because if I made impact with any such squirrels, I might rail off and crash. Maybe a truck could kill it, but my car can’t handle a joust from even a squirrel. Forbid I ever run over anything more formidable. Like a raccoon. Or a pine cone. I’m certain my front bumper could not take it.
These are the dangers of driving, yes, but only for me. I sail out at dawn to face morning-drunks driving home from their holes and also wild-eyed does who like to prance before cars and strike a girl-you-ain’t-bout-to-hit-me-boy pose. Regardless, it’s a dangerous world out there. Buckle up.