This city’s structured like spaghetti tossed on a plate.
I was just looking at all the cars from way up there on the 14th floor. Something about the bird’s-eye-view always animates them while their drivers disappear, merging into some vague collective system of humanity. Thousands of these humming creatures, weaving through serpentine curves and plummeting down twisted slopes, racing into tunnels and soaring over bridges. Round and round they spun, rolling throughout the days, generating power for the machine. I wondered if they’d ever stop.
Most were black or silver (gray‘s euphemism). Most were sedans. Four wheels, four doors. I picked one to trace down the highway and I thought of the man behind its wheel. He’s hurried out of the office now, riding home to sit, have a drink or two, and watch prime time television with a micro-waved supper. He owns a brown cat named Angus and an old pair of white sneakers, and he believes in ghosts, sort of. Next week he’ll be carried off to attend a meeting, to lift at the gym, to buy a new laptop.
The aerial perspective reminded me of my old Hot Wheels race track that my brother and I used to play with, only our cars were better. They could fly anywhere off that track if they really wanted to and they all had unconventional superpowers. Among the crew of vibrant hues were an electric green monster truck and one little purple light-up ambulance. We even had this funky Oscar Meyer Weiner mobile that came out of my father’s old matchbox set from the 60‘s. It was usually the bad guy.
“Time for Dinner!” Mom would shout up the stairs.