Monday, November 11, 2013

Day 11. NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo


In a land made of so many bridges, driving to work is surreal repetition of atmospheric swings.  The clear skies give way to impenetrable fog lifting from the water, only to disappear the moment the rear tires cross the threshold back to the highway.  But the moments in the fog seem to last much longer than the bridges themselves.  The way the car in front fades into nothing and leaves you alone for just a few seconds.  Without your anonymous driving partners, your nameless traveling companions, those few moments are terrifying.



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2 comments:

I love comments. They make me feel like I'm not talking to myself. I try to reply to all of them, eventually.