Beads of sweat sprint down my face and back, creating a sticky, icky fusion between my shirt and the supple leather seats. Futile is the air conditioning that misreads my discomfort as the sweat of heat and humidity. No, these are beads of suspense and paranoia, a much more stubborn annoyance. Writhing in my wet pit of disgust and despair, I shoot vicious glares into the skull of the driver in front of me. I squint to the point of severe discomfort in my efforts to burn a hole clean through his head but alas, my powers today have escaped me. As my fingers inch closer to that dreaded button on the steering wheel, tremors run down my arm like a San Francisco earthquake. “Please, oh please don’t do it. Perhaps one is tolerable but we all know that after one trigger happy palm commits the ultimate noise crime, none other than a chain reaction ensues,” I tell myself in attempts to ensnare my delirious digits, eager to not be the culprit. Blaring green orbs strike my eyes trying to coax me into frustration. ‘Go!’ they mock with their light. But in this spider’s web of steel and gasoline they don’t really mean it. I crack the window to taste the sweetness of fresh air and distract myself in the process but the only notes that reach my tongue are those of oil, exhaust, and hatred of life. Dehydration and misery slowly claw into my mind, pulling and gnashing at my sensible thoughts. But just as I drift into the surreal, someone snaps. BEEP! Suddenly snapped back into life, my heart pounds as if fueled by pure nitrous. Kicked into overdrive, I join to melee with insatiable hunger. Rabidly, I thrust my palm into the steaming rubber of the steering wheel, aiming to punch all the way through to the dashboard. The cacophony rages, stinging my ears with a piercing symphony of bloodlust. Readying my chariot, I rev my horses gearing for battle. This is war. And all of us know it.
No comments:
Post a Comment