today i feel like walking in traffic. I see the signs like this is a bad idea. The stop lights gravitate towards me. I feel like this is a bad idea. The cars rush past me, and I walk that white line. I stop at each crossroad and let the mothers with their baby carriages pass freely. I feel like traffic. Like rush hour traffic, the kind of traffic where noone moves. I sit in my car, and wait for the next light, next green light. Soon we all turn yellow. Then finally red. Why can’t we be green? Some of you are movers and shakers, you drive the fast lane. You take chances, you drink coffee spilling it on your suit, as you cut me off and flip me the bird. And then there are those in the slow lane either stoned or old. They are fiddling with the radio dials, they are sipping their beverage from the store. They are chewing on their gums. The old grip the steering wheel thinking about how scary it is to be old. They look small while they wander in their minds about where the last 40 years had gone. They look nervous. Then there are the slow going stoners, with approachable bumperstickers, listening to the NPR or the indie/pop/rock/hip-hop/thrash/punk/jazz/classical music they have on their ipod/cd player/tape player/head. They slowly drive with full throttle thoughts. Then there are those in the middle lane. They want to go slow, they want to go fast. They get mad, they get sad, the middle line is the emotion of the road. They drive fast, but slow, haven’t quite picked the right road. Then there’s me, walking.
I want to drive fast, I want to drive slow, and I want to own a car. I want the slow lane life, while driving in the fast lane life. I want it all, but I must stop, tie my shoe, and wait for the bus. The bus life, that’s where my people ride. We are hardworking, we are downtrodden, we are pregnant, we are the bus riders, we are old, young, and can afford a bus pass, waiting to get in that middle lane, so we can make a decision.