commute

I was driving on the empty highway to work one recent morning. The sun wouldn’t be up for a while, but its warm glow already illuminated the sky with an artist’s palette of muted colors, each subtly blended into the next as they fanned out across the sky’s cloudless expanse. The branches of the bare trees lining the road were silhouetted in a rich black against the sky, each branch clearly defined in crystal-sharp clarity. The buzz of loud guitar rock filled the car, but my mind kept it at a distance, finding soothing comfort in it as sonic baseline and not much else. The open highway stretched out before me, my cruise control furthering my feeling of passive observer of the morning unfolding before me. I thought:

The smell of farts is to the smell of shit as the smell of ground coffee is to the smell of a cup of coffee.

It was a weird morning…