Yesterday I was a near fatality in a high speed chase but I wont tell you which one I was. I might have been the one driving 70mph through a red light, I might have been the motorcycle cop with sexy kneehigh boots in hot pursuit, I might have been the screaming girl in tight running pants rolled up to her knees in the middle of the crosswalk.
That was after a black cat crossed my path, and maybe I dropped my keys in a parking lot and watched the sun glint offa them and thought about how life was short and I should drive fast more often. Or I was running down a steep hill toward a busy intersection watching the slow moving angle of the bus conceal my fast moving car. Dominos in effect. Either way I shoulda stopped and apologized.
I will give you a hint. I don't know how to drive a motorcycle. Last time I drove one I dropped it and jammed the clutch, shrugged endearingly... but not nearly endearlingly enough. That was not today.
And um, then I went home and did Linguistics homework. All I could think about as I stared at that book was how my verb was nearly modified, and all the adjectives to describe me, my life: the dangling preposition, and how eventually I would become an abstract noun.
I was shook up real good.
And its been that kind of week, just to be around it.... crisis everywhere, everyone calling in sick, calling in mean messages and old debts. Mail that made me cry in a good way, and in a bad way.
Either way, its all little-bigtown stuff and I am infamously afraid of small towns, and terrified of their family values.
I am convinced that having kids will make me grow whiskers on my chin and will for sure make me talk about flat feet too often. I might have procreated if they hadn't told me about their ruined bladders.
But that's an entirely different thing. Getting chased by the cops, everyone should have that at least once in a lifetime.
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