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Commute

written by: s.rowan.b

 

White knuckled grip at 10 and 3 o’clock
Miles of stop and go traffic,
Flashing lights,
Blaring horns.
Buildings pass by, in the blur of early morning autopilot.
The air in the car is like a personal coffee shop
Nocturne in E minor drifts lazily through the speakers
A moment of calm; before the slamming of breaks.
“Nice blinker asshole!”

s.rowan.b

s.rowan.b

Aspiring writer. Bibliophile. Lover of art, nature, music.
s.rowan.b

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