My car cabin is usually filled with extreme noise. Something to ease the commute home. This time I sit in silence. I listen to the rush of cars, the squealing of brakes, the sounds of stereos from those not sitting in silence.
It feels silly to feel anything at all. As if I’m ashamed to mourn the time spent in an alienating place. A place that took more than it’s fair share from me.
It’s really mourning the time shared wallowing in the drudgery. It’s the bond that forms out of necessity, one that can only be formed by a very specific time and place. A bond that would never form voluntarily, with people that would pass each other by without a second thought in any other situation.
The pretending that we’ll keep in touch. The pretending that the bond won’t break once it stops being necessary. It feels nice, even when it’s all make believe. A recognition that the bond might form again, somehow.
Birds swoop up above the cars on the freeway. I wonder what the birds think a freeway is. What this network of loud, racing, filthy tin cans over a brutal ribbon of asphalt could possibly mean to something like a bird.
There’s some sort of bond between them.
There will be other shitty things to mourn soon. On to the next one.
(Excellent, class conscious hardcore. Favorite track: No Greater Truth. Rating: 8.5/10)
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