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Jun. 2nd, 2002 11:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinI drove Scott to work this morning, dragging myself from a migraine-induced stupor into the shower and into clothes and boots, zipping my little car down mostly-empty streets to Greektown, where he picked up some equipment and then was on his way out of town.
I took an arbitrary way back, in no hurry, turning left here, turning right here, and ending up pretty quickly at Lake St., where I turned left. The pavement is still in pretty shitty shape, but overall not too bad when all you're doing is just cruising along in the early morning -- the only people you really see are the occasional jogger, a bicyclist or three, and a gangsta pimp gathering together his flock to rest up for the next night.
The El beams above Lake St. (for the Green Line) are painted a mustardy yellow, dimmed and weathered by dirt and rust, but in the morning light they seemed a bit brighter, a bit stronger, more able to withstand the train that thundered directly over my car. I increased my speed as the train passed over, and we kept pace for a few blocks, the roar weaving and circling around me as we hurtled west.
It was a small rush, a cavalcade of sound and metal and thunk of tire hitting concrete. The wind coming in through my car window and ventilating through the dashboard was cool and almost sweet, the flickering shdows of car and train, beam and sign-post, all welcome as patterns to my tired eyes. The train cars slowed and doppled down into a lower register at a stop, and I kept going, three cylinders of might and strength in my sleeping city.
I took an arbitrary way back, in no hurry, turning left here, turning right here, and ending up pretty quickly at Lake St., where I turned left. The pavement is still in pretty shitty shape, but overall not too bad when all you're doing is just cruising along in the early morning -- the only people you really see are the occasional jogger, a bicyclist or three, and a gangsta pimp gathering together his flock to rest up for the next night.
The El beams above Lake St. (for the Green Line) are painted a mustardy yellow, dimmed and weathered by dirt and rust, but in the morning light they seemed a bit brighter, a bit stronger, more able to withstand the train that thundered directly over my car. I increased my speed as the train passed over, and we kept pace for a few blocks, the roar weaving and circling around me as we hurtled west.
It was a small rush, a cavalcade of sound and metal and thunk of tire hitting concrete. The wind coming in through my car window and ventilating through the dashboard was cool and almost sweet, the flickering shdows of car and train, beam and sign-post, all welcome as patterns to my tired eyes. The train cars slowed and doppled down into a lower register at a stop, and I kept going, three cylinders of might and strength in my sleeping city.
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no subject
Date: 2002-06-02 11:14 am (UTC)