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July 09, 2017 - 234 words
Summer of storms
This drive down the coast during the dreamlike dusk in southern California evokes memories of places I’ve never been to and sensations I’ve never had. My car still has a nostalgic layer of playa dust, a memory of where I’ve been and sensations I do remember. I’m hesitant to clean it so the caked-on texture adds a blurry bleary filter to the windshield, turning the brake lights that form the lifeblood of the Pacific Coastal Highway into a scintillating kaleidoscope. The sun behind me is a sinking spotlight, a ball of blood.
I know this city but it’s like I’m here for the first time. I’m in a mirror version of Los Angeles.
I’m unusually focused and every decision requires judgment. That’s a lot of responsibility. A sign on my right appears. It says “Please don’t drink and drive.” Does that apply to me? No, I haven’t had a drop to drink. My car is gliding above the pavement and responds like a spacecraft leaving dock on its maiden voyage into the cosmos. I’m floating through the approaching twilight and I glimpse a dusty orange moon emerging from the smudged clouds over the horizon, a weird beacon. Back to the road. Driving with the care I’d take during a Midwestern rainstorm. It’s like I’m driving through a rainstorm but there’s no rain. I would like to feel a summer storm again.