Traffic

Red brake lights like a far stretching sea. I reach out with one hand still on the wheel and fetch my cell phone. I type thoughts between periods of acceleration, enter reminders for dates and times.

Notifications for days.

This drive is going to take days, and not like the good kind of days. The days where you enter two states and leave three. The kind of days that hours can feel like, only attempting to travel from point a to point b. A hardly noticeable forty miles. Except now that forty miles feels like the length of the Mojave desert, standing atop one if it’s spiny, jagged mountains to survey it’s whole. But this isn’t a mountain, it’s an overpass; the interstate stretches South. For days.