Another micro fiction piece. Really enjoying this genre at the moment.
Per diem #17 this is living
You’re on your way home from a job you’ve convinced yourself is somehow important. To your right the freeway is a blocked artery, fat and bursting. Doing 80 on the busway would be reasonable grounds for a dumb, smug grin but protocol says no grinning on the bus.
Another day done. Ringing phones and dumb questions from people who should know better. Management process. Upward traction. Market environments. A thousand fucking post it notes. All of them necessary.
Then you see the blockage in the artery. A motorcycle and a car have arrived in the same light. The bike now just fractures; strangle unnatural angles around something still. Still like nothing else was ever still.
You see it and you feel glad that you gave up motorcycles.You feel glad that you now ride a bus. You feel glad that when you get home, there’ll be a big screen TV, 3 different places to sit, all of your tax receipts and a fridge big enough to die in, all of them waiting for you.
Later, you’ll walk down the driveway to a house that in 27 years and 3 months you might own. All the lights will be out. Your arms will feel dull and numb. The keys will keep falling out your thick fingers.
Some inside part of you starts to grind, steel on steel, bone on bone.
Something inside you is breaking.