The endless turns one takes while searching for a parking spot in the city.
I spent nearly an hour trying to park my car the other night.
We’d returned from dinner with my Dad. I dropped L. off at home, chimed a sweet “love you!” and set myself to parking.
Left at the light. Nothing on this block.
Left at the next. All booked up.
Left at the light.
Maybe a right.
It went like this.
Left. Left. Right. Left. With every turn I felt more of myself slide away… my sanity fraying like a windblown flag. Left. Left. Left. On and on until the last scraps had eroded finally away.
Hope. Was there ever such a thing? Certainly not.
For the world is barren. A dead place. Bereft. A corridor of parked and empty cars. No life. Nothing stirring. Young couples loved, once. They walked their dogs and jaunted happily through the streets in well-tailored, seasonally-appropriate jackets. But that time had passed. Now dawns the age of rubber and glass.
I was born to die in that car… lost forever… left behind. Left. Left.
Abruptly, without any reason or purpose… I found a spot.
And everything was alright again.