continuee.

I drive down 95 in the left lane, going as quickly as possible to avoid the slower cars on the right. It always infuriates me when someone is driving slowly in the left or the center lane - didn't the driver have to pass some sort of driving school? Aren't they required to know what the hell they are doing? Then when I pass, I see their somewhat sheepish faces and it makes me feel guilty that I am harboring such anger for someone who is probably scared. Then I feel stupid for feeling guilty for cowards - a coward is less than nothing, a coward is what remains after everything good in a person is gone. I make note to never give a damn about these people again. I know that I will. Human nature is as binding as anything else that humanity depends on.

There is a starbucks near my office and I contemplate going, but I am trying to detox my body in preparation for the weekend so I decide to skip it. I used to go all the time when the beautiful girls worked there but they all left, they grew up and got jobs somewhere else, they worked and laughed and some of them must have died in the time between now and then. I hate the burnt out women that remain. There are two in particular - one is a shrewish former riot grrrl with terrible red dyed hair and a nasal tone to her voice that makes my skin crawl. She is an idiot - fully incapable of actually working at a starbucks. Imagine just how stupid a person has to be to be unable to work at a starbucks. She can not remember anything beyond the first second that she is told it, and her utter complacency is annoying. The other woman is simply old and stupid, and I can not fault her for being old and stupid but I wish she were not old and stupid. I drive past the starbucks and head to the office. My shirt feels tighter around my wrists when I clench the steering wheel with both hands, making a circuit. My head is in the middle - that's the part that lights up but I can't, I can't see through the night like that, I can't.

I am merging into the correct lane with my turn signal on, driving at a conscientous speed, when the truck hits me from behind and flips my car over. I black out too slowly, unmercifully. The last thing I note is that my radio has died, and that the road is really a very loud thing after all, every car passing by sounds like an arrow loosed from a bow, and I am the target, riddled with colored circles and worth so many points. Have we made our point? It sings out of every wounded limb, yes.

-Rich
complete satisfaction spells a four letter word