I hate being grounded

Soft rainy overcast. That day where the car ahead's brake lights blur six inches past the bumper through the window in the haze. Little droplets and their red borders creeping down those glass eyes like tears until they're wiped away. The red. It's good. It's the only color in a somber palette of gray. It's that winter rain, where the air smells like evergreen. The city sedated, the music quiet, something happens. The Usuals with their eyes on their three-stripe adidas tennis shoes look up.  The Usuals, who have never played tennis, look around. At puddles on the ground and the walls that shield the crawling cars. Lack of shadows that make everything blend into a utopia of melancholy. The Usuals perk up for some reason. The world is changing pace, so should they, they think, they know, they act. Generics playing in the Usuals stereo. They turn it down. They think, they figure, they listen. They listen to the road. To the cars driving by them. How their cars bend like elastic back and forth every time a van goes speeding by. Today, they think. Today is the day that they break away, they think. They know. They wish. The gray is too much. Eyes, half open, the Usuals sip their Folgers and think. They look around, maybe for the first time in a week. Maybe a year. Maybe a lifetime. Foot alternating, pedal to pedal, stop go, stop go, they look, they hope. They hope for a car accident. Maybe something graphic. Today, it's the day. Pretty soon the sun comes out and the brake lights damper, the droplets evaporate, the red is thrown back into the palette of supposed brightness. The Usuals, their half horizontal lips fold into the pissed off crescendo that they enjoy so much. The worms who lacked oxygen find their way to the sidewalk. They fry. The Usuals didn't notice. The worms, whose lives ended so that the Usuals could see. They did, for a minute. They saw, they noticed, they hoped. They forgot. And then there will come soft rains.

The first chapter of a book I'll never write. I sat down and forced myself to write something because I'm so bored. Oh my God I'm so bored.

1 comment:

  1. hahaha i have so many of these
    i like your idea though