A few weeks ago, the drive up the 5 on my way to Seattle presented a number of different views and obstacles. At one point I pull up behind a large and growing pile of traffic. ‘Wreck ahead’, reads a sign. Ok, I’ll expect delays. Yada Yada, I’ve lived in southern California for the last five years, I know the drill… should have been more like a fire drill. Pulling up to the scene, this ‘wreck’ was in fact a trailer ablaze and charred, a mere skeleton. From what I could see, no casualties fortunately enough. Then the next ‘wreck’ appeared fairly quickly following the conflagration*. I must give you the context surrounding this second incident. My brakes are squeaky. The Vis, as I call my Eagle Vision, four-door and white stallion-esc sedan, has seen many cross-country trips and subsequently many miles. She’s well traveled, well aged, and dependable. But something’s begun in her, a squeaking of orchestral proportions. Breaking never sounded so magical, I tell you. In four four time, squeak two three four, squeak squeak three four… (or maybe it was six-eight) the starts and stops, the petrol exhaust, the arms poking out of open windows, the peaking glances around long rows of cars... all and everything make for quite the sensory experience. And the aged gentleman beside me in a tiny ford couple with a bumper sticker labeling his car and perhaps himself a ‘BIOHASARD,’ acts as the impromptu conductor, waving his arms in time with an unrelated musical manifestation of his own. We’re at a stand still. But soon traffic quickens and with a nod of acknowledgement we’re sent flying once more at speeds uninhibited by rotating instruments. Actions of forward progress begin with the tapping of a wand and the jumbled sound of tuning instruments. Just wait and listen to the synchronized notes that soon will follow.
*please refer to Leonard G Crowley’s vocabulary archive for clarification and definitional explanation.
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