Wet pavement is dangerous, and he just keeps on going. He’s not thinking of speed or reality. Yet red signs mean stop. Sometimes he doesn’t care, keeping himself from true actuality. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the strange effect of the moon glaring down on him. It doesn’t matter. He leans deeper into the soft leather of his BMW, feeling the grip between the tires and the road. Is that a pair of headlights up ahead? It couldn’t be, seeing as he is the only person in this world it seems. The car glides smoothly, ignoring the beauty of the silent night. And then it’s not so silent. He can’t believe it. Metal grates against metal, leaving someone outside on wet pavement. He limps out of his own car thinking all the while…what have I done?
March 29, 2010