After Passing the Accident George Bishop
As I move through the night, failures reach out like the poor from their eyes and the miles begin to stretch like panthers at dark. Even instinct was all for pulling over, waving time by. On the seat beside me my small bag of success fit perfectly. It was enough. Where I was going I could be late, and no one would notice if I were early. Besides, I was just outside of somewhere, where they thought they were going, where they thought they arrived.
The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism
96
