Blink. These eyes reopen and focus. Steady, they look forward. The mind funnels out all other thoughts but the road ahead.  Lines and color remain as a function of distinction. Dashed white stripes blur to become a thin solid string pointing to the horizon.  Various colors of cars linger or speed in advance.  The scenery merges together and becomes a mingled green and grey, but the lines still dictate sharply of the objects in front.

Machina on concrete. The familiarity between the two must mean destiny. That friction of tire against asphalt whisper to each other. Cars no longer move, but slide across the ground heading in the direction that is secret to the line. Further the wit descends into torpor. The blend of green in the backdrop support the sigh of the white: Go.

A yellow weakly haunts the way that is far. The sun is not prevalent. Instead, it’s concealed by the white above. The sun does not reach the glass that also in front, though it lights the trail. A yellow that is barely noticed. A blush that warns, but is disregarded: Caution.

Click. The cassette player sounds as the tape unravels to play an Astrud Gilberto single. The tune emits from the speakers’ hum like the breath that is taken. Barely audible. The acoustic guitar played by the wind hardly penetrates the body at the wheel.

Song on skin. The familiarity between the two must mean destiny. That friction of sound against skin whisper to one another. The driver no longer hears the melody of the piece, but inhales the lyrics and exhales the sentiment of the tune. In and out. These lungs fill with words that are belonging to me. They linger long enough to trigger the rhythm of a heart that won’t release the emotions it has come to know. Further the feeling ascend into zealousness.

The bright red orders the (un)willing. It is prevalent. A flashing light alerts that the tape has finished playing. The glowing does not reach the eyes of the driver. Though the song has ended, the words continue to murmur: “But something lingers on… There’s a certain sadness here now that the sky is clear..”

A crimson that warns, but is disregarded: Stop.