Acceleration eased and brakes applied. The car brought to a gentle halt. Handbrake. 5.10pm. Exhausted.
With the engine still running; the heaters hummed. The vehicle a shell of warmth against November elements. Rain tapped the exterior; wet bubbles and rivers of clearness owning the silver hatchback. The wipers swept the windscreen, a sodden squeak as rubber met glass. Inside, the windows steamed from smooth exhales. The radio played; the percussion of Springsteen resonant. So tired.
Career details; folders; tablets; pages. All occupying fingers and thoughts in bogus regard. Falsifying busyness and attention towards passed priorities and future agendas. Procrastinating. Timing. Appropriating the walk home. All in anticipation. The lights are on upstairs.
Gazing upward, dark eyes meet the rear view mirror. Blue stones letterboxed in emotion, roofed by thick brows expressing scattered notions upon a day gone by. A weary face. Bearded. Edgy. Exhausted.
The first glimpse will change all that.
