It’s raining so hard the water kicked up by my tires makes a slapping sound...
May 14th, 2008
As I pull into the back parking lot of Spot 79 on Southeast Foster Road...13 comments
May 7th, 2008
I’ve had this stooped old alcoholic once before.6 comments
April 30th, 2008
When I call out to the Emanuel E.R.’s waiting room for my fare...13 comments
April 23rd, 2008
“No, really, I believe you,” I tell the old man.17 comments
April 16th, 2008
“Vote Ron Paul? Who’s that, Sean Paul’s cousin?”15 comments
April 9th, 2008
The young woman leans forward...7 comments
April 2nd, 2008
I ask the two guys if there's going to be a problem with the payment... | [CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK] 20 comments
March 26th, 2008
For the first time ever, I flip the panic switch. 11 comments
March 12th, 2008
I pick up the two teenagers in inner Southeast12 comments
March 5th, 2008
I’m thankful when I turn on the ignition that I’ve been listening to blues tonight6 comments
[March 19th, 2008] It’s raining so hard the water kicked up by my tires makes a slapping sound as it hits my chassis, like waves against the hull of a boat.
I’m only doing 60, but it feels like I’m roaring down the Banfield as I deadhead back into town after a nice trip—three professional bull riders out to the Wood Village Wal-Mart at 11 pm. The driving conditions are miserable, but I’ve got Anderegg cranked on the speakers, and the combination of the beautifully delicate music, the lulling rhythm of the windshield wipers and the barely audible whir of the defroster has me feeling completely safe.
I’ve reached a point where I know my Crown Vic as a beetle knows its carapace. I am the car, and the car is me. We move as one, as gracefully and reflexively as a large cat returning to its den.
And it occurs to me that it’s curious and maybe even a little troubling that my mind never gets all Zen and shit unless I’m thinking about work. Thoughts of “becoming one with the cab” probably aren’t indicative of a healthy and fulfilling life.
But fuck, when it comes down to it, I just love to drive. To get in this ugly-ass old muscle car with horrible gas mileage and back-breaking seats, get out on the empty nighttime streets, and just drive for hours on end.
The MDT beeps, I snag an order in outer Northeast, and I can’t help but smile.
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amen, there is no past or future behind that wheel. all that matters is now, for sure.
I had my first chargeable accident in over 6 years of this a while back. Now that wonderful zen-like feeling you so eloquently describe is mixed with this awful, creeping dread of making even the tiniest mistake. It's a strange cocktail, that's for sure.
God damn did I hate that feeling. I haven't written about accidents yet. The chargeable one I had was incredibly banal and minor, but I had another one where it was the other guy's fault that was completely hilarious. It's a fall or winter story, though.
But sorry man, I remember that feeling very well, and it's really no fun at all.
And what's absolutely hilarious is that less than an hour after writing the above comment, I got into a chargeable accident. I guess that misery loves company.
All fucking right, NC3.