Short Essay on Driving Home

We slide down the wet boulevard with guitar riffs pouring down on us like a river to distant space. A ghost, sad and lonely, ciggarette burning between ravaged lips. He glides down the street in sad little steps, dreads curling around his lamenting, hunched shoulders. His face is littered with stubble and wrinkles, an anmorphisized of a junkyard full of the harsh lessons of time. He fades into the dark out of view in the realest of terms but continues to glide next to the car in the deep imaginairy black caverns of the mind. The world is lit up neon and intriguing on the infinite shoulders of Sunrise Highway. The sounds of mufflers and tires splashing puddles and blowing wind permeate the walls of sound dripping like sweet honey from the speakers. The world continues around me and I am outside looking in, tipping the horizon back and forth like a seesaw ridding by the mocking and saving gods of the old times. Voices travel through my mind speaking words i can't make out. The highway curves eternally ahead. The car swerves and speeds wildly through secluded Long Island lanes and beneath parkway tunnels. Death seems to be creeping up yet falling away as minutes crawl by. Silently we vibe on the psychadellic stereo. The lights go on forever in the dark, lining the asphalt driven path to eternity. Lights caution construction ahead. We speed steadily on through as acoustic notes and guitar slides solos echo in the inner ear and home looms ahead. We spin and dance around curves driving towqards calm nights, sleep and warm comfortable bed. Oh house eternal, welcome me with open arms and doors. A long night over the shoulder and left in history's own pages. Life continue, oh continue...