Turn Harder, You Won't Flip

     It's just one of those nights. Closing the shop, everyone else has already left, the lights around all start to blink out. Everyone is going home to their family, roommates, and pets. Me, I'm still behind the counter, trying to close with computers older than I am and programs who aren't much better.

     Finally out of the shop and the lights of the mall begin to shut down ahead of me, guiding me with darkness back to my car. Pull out and see the dark city expanding out before me. Its only 9:30 and yes the only lights to be seen are the pale orange fluorescence of the street lights and the occasional head light. A rain cloud rolled in an hour ago, but in this town it won't stay rain long. My windshield dotted with a shower I feel I need, and the one in ten that is only water once it hits the warm glass. 

     I just keep driving through the black and splashes of orange until I come to the crossroads. Turn right, and I'm on my way home, warm bed I haven't slept in in months, piled dishes, pristine and untouched food, and that feeling that an addict must live with me. Or I could go straight, The erotica shop and the strip club oh so many places and people love to tell me about. Whats the harm? I won't sleep until at least 2, no one is waiting for me at home. The hamster is probably dead anyway. I'm certain I should get some kind of deviant glee even thinking about this choice, about the possibilities, and yet its a decision I shrug off like complaints of an angry customer.

     I head home, down two miles of empty slowly curving roads, driving too fast for them in normal weather. That little voice in my head just keep saying faster, go faster, turn harder, you won't flip. Its always there, but nights like these, he's harder to shut up. The radio is playing some local band, too serene and perfect for the battle raging in my head. Before the nag can win I turn the corner and see the red light; I return to reality and stop.

     The light turns and I peal out, eager to escape my own mind as if leaving the black road and the icey rain will make it go away.

     Home, more black, more orange light, more rain. I just can't go in, listening to the radio and the sound of my neighbor's truck, clicking as if she's got a metronome made out of a a twelve pack instead of an engine. I finally get up and come inside, just to write. Why?

     This is my everyday, why does it seem so much worse now. Because I may have seen the end of a life. The clouds had just rolled in as I headed to work. As I passed the red light towards the strip of empty road I was stopped by a train of cars. Each with one or more heads craned out the window to the next intersection. Unmoving is the crumpled for of a young women, maybe 23, and a bike that looks like it had seen worse. Another young women sat crying over her slowly rubbing her shoulder while three others stood talking on phones. no car was pulled aside, no sign of this good sumaritan, and yet here we were. We drivers, craning to get a look, and me, just trying to get past.

     I didn't call 911, I didn't try and help, I just went to work, and no one knew, men and women dropped more money in front of me than I make in months . What use was I, what use am I? 

So, I'm honestly not sure where all this came from, I mean a lot is true, but it kind of just sprang fully formed from my mind and I just let it go free. just in case anyone is worried, no I'm not suicidal, I'm not depressed, though I've never really seen a psychiatrist or a psychologist. This just kind of came to be and demanded to be created.