Friday, March 16, 2007

One of these days




Evan understood that everything in and out of his control was spiraling completely out of his reach. As he rumbled down I-76 towards Brighton in his ’69 GTO convertible with the Johnny Cash staple Ring of Fire playing over an over, everything became clear. Nothing matters, but everything matters. The a.m. radio static fills the synapses with the creative mass that is needed to keep the dual, dual exhaust purring like the smooth cat rolling around in catnip, like jerry Garcia in a pit of juicy tangerines where everyone loves to eat the little squirrels that have been completely taken over by the acorn farm’s dead hamsters rolling thru cash like a drunken Andy Griffith at a laffy taffy store. Focus, once regained, was formidable. He snapped out of the hypnotizing oncoming headlights long enough to veer to the right thus avoiding smacking the back of a volvo. adrenaline is a mighty fine stimulant in times of severe depression or destruction.