Traffic and Delerium

It was a Friday where strange things seemed to align. You end up doing things you don't normally do and seeing people you don't normally see. You roll out of bed at 8:30. You listen to Keep the Car Running eleven times in a row. You get to work on time. You work--well. You're lunch is paid for. Your afternoon is quiet but welcome. Wet. It's a two hour ride home instead of one. There's a bus broken down in the HOV lane. Now those occupants are hanging out of windows, tailgating, chatting. Can you believe this weather? Can you believe this backup? Can you? A child displays a clever homemade sign as you pass: Help Our Vehicle. Careful kid, you're distracting other drivers. Like that guy whose fender is now resting on the asphalt. He passed you ten minutes ago. You knew he'd end up like this too. If only he saw you shaking your head as he blew by. That Jeep with the Block Island sticker resembling chipped paint keeps showing up in front of you despite your thinking that you're crawling faster than the average commuter. Don't miss your exit, it'll be another twenty minutes to get home. Now what's for dinner? The same thing you had for lunch; it's still heavy in your stomach. One of several daily mistakes. You're list of essential nightly accomplishments shrinks to one. You've been meaning to see Invasion of the Body Snatchers anyway. Except now afterward you're very suspicious of everyone. Second commute. No I'm no staying. It's two o'clock? Perfect. Now put on a buzzing breathy song to pass out to just for the hell of it. Don't worry, you'll take the headphones off in your sleep. But only once your dreams of a slow apocalypse are too much to handle. Good night, can you believe it?