Streams of light

I am stuck at an intersection coming off of a sleepy side street onto the main thoroughfare during rush hour. No one in Vegas will let up to allow me in but I don’t care: I’ve got all damn day, and I’ve grown so accustomed to intersections, whether in a car or not. I am content to just sit here in limbo since it’s such a familiar spot. One top of that, no one is behind me, so I’m just like, whatevah, la-di-da, que sera. I turn on the radio and watch the endless stream of cars, like so many forgone opportunities. I think of those fiery balls of color in a Roman candle, tearing into the sky, one by one, with a piercing whistle and a trail of light but then fizzling out. Still, people keep making those things. And there are always shooting stars.

Published by Cassandra

Writer and visual artist. Avid reader, cuddle bunny. Sweetie, I'd love to.

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