On today’s commute to the concrete jungle of downtown mosquitoville I was forced to follow in the path of a steaming tar truck. It was hidden from my sight for the longest time. At first I thought that I was burning motor oil and prayed that my car wouldn't start to shudder and groan.
Arriving at work, I now feel light headed, and not the good kind of light headed.
I now have Peter Gabriel on the brain.
My mind is slowly slipping into the gooey unknown.
I think I should take a trip via Via Rail.
Perhaps a journey out West, a former place I once called home. I miss the landscapes, wildlife and the dewy fresh air. I miss trampling though the bush, light headed from pitchers of golden goodness, singing at the top of my lungs, only to make the bears aware.
“Yogi, although you are beautiful, please stay off the trail.”
Head West young man.