Lights flash in the dark, filling my eyes with shapes. The motor hums in steady bursts. My hands against the steering wheel become tentacles falling from my arms, ghostly and freckled. My shoulder is wet. I slide down in the leather seat so I can reach the pedals.
I feel a strange sense of companionship with the other drivers. I wonder what it would be like to live on the highway, driving on and on. I would feel free, a balloon let out of the sticky hand of a child. We are all in the same situation.
A black ribbon of asphalt ebbs and flows. Farms line the road, the perfect plots of land lined up, a game of checkers. I'm stuck behind a towering SUV. I swerve to the right lane, pulling in front of it, even though there's nothing to see.
Molly Bond
http://www.fictionaut.com/users/molly-bond
Collected Stories
Raymond Carver
I feel a strange sense of companionship with the other drivers. I wonder what it would be like to live on the highway, driving on and on. I would feel free, a balloon let out of the sticky hand of a child. We are all in the same situation.
A black ribbon of asphalt ebbs and flows. Farms line the road, the perfect plots of land lined up, a game of checkers. I'm stuck behind a towering SUV. I swerve to the right lane, pulling in front of it, even though there's nothing to see.
Molly Bond
http://www.fictionaut.com/users/molly-bond
Collected Stories
Raymond Carver