Driving On Strings

In the almost flourescently sad and even light coming through ceiling-tile white clouds over I-85, near the Perimeter, this morning, the darker stripes of asphalt and oil running down the centers of the highway lanes contrast against the lighter dark of the asphalt on the outside of the lanes, where the tires and the white dashed stripes go. Out of the corner of my eye, the fuzzy edges of these dark bars clash with the lighter, driven-on asphalt and catch the light in the rims of my glasses. This makes the black bands on the road seem to shake and tremble, thrumming like chords or guitar strings. We’re driving up the neck of the instrument, each of us a finger in the chord.

The second or third time I catch that shaking in my peripheral vision I think I might be going crazy or maybe reaching my caffeine breaking point. I should give up the macchiatos but I won’t. Instead I wonder if the other drivers see it and worry about themselves. Then I get distracted by a song on WRAS and forget about it.

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