Exactly 27 minutes...on most days

Chrome slender and jagged, shiny keys pierce the ignition slot, wrench the black oblong black plastic clockwise, crank three times, kick-over, engine sounds good, slam the heater on, flip two controllers on the gray dashboard, one all the way left, the other all the way right. Cold morning these days, the air will bite back, March usually necessitates a jacket. Defrost mode, high speed fans hurling air past the fogged-over windshield, hopefully this indoor dreary weather will break soon or I won’t be able to see. Holster sunglasses in the center console, red and orange fired fringed clouds to the east, I don’t need my shades. Right hand grips at the shiny gearshift and articulates in an "L" pattern, search for reverse, "aha, I've found you", time to roll. Windows still too glazed over to see, shoot out the driveway, find first gear, de-clutch and whirl away down the street. Zip past the neighbor with two loaded orange trees, bows bent to the ground with sunshine ripe bright fruit, I should make orange juice sometime, another day perhaps. Race past the rose colored house, the one with the unkempt yard and tacky religious signs posted out front, everyone is entitled to their opinions I guess, for better or worse. Slow down, watch for the cross-gutter dip, speed up only to blink for the stop sign. Right turn past the park, past the bum with his van parked on the side of street, the one who watches t.v. at every conceivable hour on a postage stamp sized portable set, I guess I have no room to judge, I don't even own a t.v. I was convinced he was some sort of pedophile for a while, I come to find out he is a paraplegic who waits for un-judgemental people unlike myself to take him for walks through the park. I have felt terrible since; books and their covers, you never know.


Grind through three yellow lights, left, right, straight, stuck at the fourth, damn, behind schedule. Left turn lane only, go green arrow delight, race car track embanked, slam into fourth, onto the freeway, mash on the pedal, gotta make it on before that semi. Look left twice over the shoulder glance high speed lance. Billboard signs whizz past, Edward Abbey whispering in my left ear, telling me how I should deal with such ugly eyesores; for now they'll just be a sore spot in my drive to be dealt with later, one day. Blinker right off the freeway, the pause sign aware that I am there, but not for long. Down the swooping hill with the blinking yellow sign yelling at me, telling me how fast I am travelling and it's nowhere near the posted limit, maybe I'll be forgiven in another life, but for now I need to be somewhere. Bank left, slow right, another day, deja vu, another day, bank left, slow right. Aww the beach, I can see it now, ingest the air, palatable salt water, seaweed, seagulls overhead, rolling breakers. Down to the left, on the beach are a half dozen fire pits still smoking from the previous night, a calm haze and a few glowing embers remind me of the fun that was had. Boats rock themselves in sleep within the wide open bay, the air is silent and still, there will be no sailing today. Sneak past the gate guard with a loud thud of a speed bump, we're all zombies in the morning.


Grip the wheel slightly; begin the 6.7 mile countdown, a juxtaposition of nature's palette and man's will. Juke and dodge in swooping motions to follow the hillsides jutting out onto rue colored grasslands, while the chaparral and coyote bush salt and pepper the wayward north slopes. Each gully and creek are littered with coastal live oak as they meander their way west, only to meet their maker in the ocean below. With each consecutive arroyo bounding turn after turn, coastal bluffs unfurl themselves and the sandstone and kelp covered rocks peak through each valley. It is truly serene. Mile 6.5 and two towers on the horizon appear, immovable objects, foreign, alien in these pristine surroundings. This is where I bide my time, five days a week.