Back on that bleached freeway. It is that long stretch on the 405 that just opens up and I almost feel like I am free from it, whatever it is. Hints of sadness as I glance in the rearview mirror. I am being pursued by caricatures. A woman in a red mustang convertible. Fashionable Cali-esque shades. Cell phone extended. Zipping in and out of traffic. Trying to get somewhere in so little time. Every few seconds she risks her life just a little bit...for what? For a few more seconds. Those few more precious seconds. Is it worth it? I brood on this as I cruise, realizing that I am risking my own, just a little bit. Dangerous state of mind on these crowded roads. Spacey music. I am not in my head right now. And these thoughts! Damn these thoughts! Not right now. Can't this wait?
The sharks are circling the parking reef. The first week is shark season. And every corner I round, there is someone flashing their blinker, getting so lucky with a person leaving. Keep moving. You'll get lucky soon. The nerves are running bare. The music is barely getting me through. How many more rounds? How much longer? Oh yes! A white Jetta. I felt bad for the poor S.O.B. behind me, watching me put on my blinker. But I had to survive, and there was a kill right in front of me.
Logic class is in the ever-so-beautiful Rowland Hall, which is currently under heavy construction. The room itself is nestled in a maze of halls and detours, the main routes blocked off by construction equipment. The actual room is a glaring white claustrophobic flourescent sardine can nightmare. The students are shoulder to shoulder, some sitting on the floor. Is this ceiling too low? Are these seats too narrow? Someone turn down the lights. What is this? Coffee spilled on the floor? This place smells like the inside of an airplane. I should balance this backpack on my shoe so as not to get it soaked. An hour grinds by.
Only 5 people go to this school, and their form has been duplicated over and over again and the campus is populated with these clones to throw me off. Look, there is that one kid. Woah! There he is again! Or was it him? Do they use an algorithm to simulate what students should do? The paranoia is setting in!
Obsessions. Multiple thoughts. Shake it off. Drop this petty shit. The complaints are minuscule. Think...of Africa.
Perhaps...an alcoholic beverage. But not tonight! It is too late. Strange things could happen. Strange panic...strange visions...dreams...hallucinations...whatever they are.
