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In my free time, I enjoy taking day trips and looking for new things to write about.


The mornings are an open highway with a horizon brightly lit. There are few cars this early and the quiet zephyr of traffic whirs by as he moves forward through the white bars, slit into the slick concrete. The music on the radio is excited. A light breeze interrupts the trees along the roadside.

More cars accumulate and accelerate and slow down. A few take the earlier exits while some of the other vehicles move past him quickly. There is a destination somewhere ahead. It's name is unknown to him, but he is certain it will arrive. Some of the other drivers turn to him and smile. A lady holding a handkerchief, in a black convertible waves.

Stormclouds arrive and disappear. The music on the radio changes to jazz from Spanish to talk radio. The talk radio reminds him of when he was a child which was just earlier this morning and suddenly he's nearly 40.

Afternoons pass and night appears and stars make their presence known in the canopy of sky above him. Buildings rise around him and disappear. He accelerates a little to move quickly past the park with the lakes and slows down a little to examine the streetlights when they ignite.

It is now early afternoon and the freeway still welcomes him with its clean white lines. The radio pauses when he slips under the underpasses. Suddenly there are all sorts of motorcycles and bicycles too. A caravan of Winnebagos, tractor trailers and then a 747. Soon there are pedestrians around him, running frantically. Convenience stores, church steeples.

A diminutive breeze interrupts the few trees again. Sometimes there are passengers which appear in his car and then other times he drives alone. He moves along the freeway and slips into cities, magnificent with their evening lights. More sunsets and still he drives, along the ocean coasts, through the blizzards with icy roads.

He checks his gas tank and looks up at the horizon, the woman next to him smiles and touches his ear. His hair is gray around the edges he notices in the rear view mirror. There is still a destination ahead he believes and wonders if he should have taken the last exit.

From the backseat he hears "are we there yet?" and wonders if he'll ever arrive, certain there is a city without a name which will welcome him.



Fin (author) from Barstow on July 29, 2018:

just a try at flash fiction....trying to represent the proverbial he which could be a she which was suspposed to be the everyman

FlourishAnyway from USA on July 29, 2018:

This was thought provoking. Had me wondering who he was exactly.

Fin (author) from Barstow on July 28, 2018:

Sounds like quite an adventurous life. Wish I would have wandered more and I did really enjoy my time as a pedestrian. I used to live outside of Silver Spring

Elijah A Alexander Jr from Washington DC on July 28, 2018:

Flinn, especially during the early years of my new birth, except for being in an auto of some kind, I was that way as a solo walker. My instructions were to "go into all the world" and "judge nothing" and the only way I had of doing that was walking. Sometimes I was on Interstates but my favorite was the numbered highways with shoulders enough for a walker. They provided fields with eatable crops, friendly small-town people and sometimes a barn or empty house for refuge from a storm and, boy, how I enjoyed it. After more than 5 provinces of Canada, 11 states of and the city of Mexico and Belize I wondered through 44 US states, most twice or more, only to find myself in Washington, DC on an indefinite stay. I must say, it was fun while it lasted.