It is a shame. They ought to fix these roads soon enough. I mean, how much longer can we people expect to meander around in traffic? It is a wondrous affair, traffic that is. Everyone in collective agreement that the next person over has the same humanic rights as a block of brie. Even myself, a country dweller, parting ways with the charming quiet of emerald paddocks observes this.
There is a humorous irony to watching these electric vehicles line up for this rudimentary activity, I always assumed their new wave marketing would allow them to bypass this peasant ritual. Maybe the automobiles of the future will be able to glide over the road rules of pile ups, red lights and obscene hand gestures? Maybe there will be traffic in the sky and driving on the ground will dissolve into some kind of hipster activity similar to purchasing an IPod to really ‘feel the music?’
I am a child, I feel nostalgic about things that happened yesterday. I see the strokes of the painting. Seated at the largely falling apart maroon street bench. The bench, a result of local council negligence and a rushed effort to spend taxpayers money from the highway road toll, is just a bench and yet has all the uncomfortability of a living breathing human.
There, I doze away. Wedged in between the bright neon lights of ‘SEW Insurance Brokers,’ a further reminder of my distaste for fiscal management. Across from the stale building, the faded green of the local cinema. A treasure of cultural learning and inhalation of asbestos.
It is here, under the golden beams of sunlight, that I wonder what love is? Not really, I ponder the logistics of lying to yourself each and everyday, allowing yourself to be completely directed by falsities and for the world to lend you a hand by labeling it, accounting.
Only now do I hear the droning honk of the car behind me and reminded that I am, in fact, functioning. I knew I would eventually make it to my destination but did not expect a conclusion. Change is a natural attachment to all people. It may be a perfect shining day, in a nice rural town and the car park to the cinema may be full, but we all must push on as if it will stay that way.
Hamish Box is a Film and Television student whose creative interests revolve around writing and directing both fiction and non-fiction work. Hamish loves writing musicals, cultural observations and political satires.