novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- big footin' on the freeway My station wagon is so big and old that it sways as I drive, and I just get into the rhythm of driving. It becomes a calming physicality, especially when put to music. Yesterday I was driving back from east Oakland on the 580, giant burrito and thrift scores en tow, blasting funk. Just after the bend towards the Lakeshore and Grand Avenue exits, I noticed that the cars in front of me were slowing down. This was a Sunday afternoon: no congestion, no sirens or flashing lights. The car to my left came almost to a full stop before I noticed the green motor boat, unmoored and flopping like a fish out of water. A flopping fish going about sixty-five. It was rigged to wheels and looked like it had popped off of whatever vehicle was pulling it. I turned down Big Footin' and watched the boat: it seemed to nose against the freeway divider on purpose, looking for safe perch, but thought better of it and started coming at me instead. I am one of those inventive day-dreamers: I instantly personify things that suddenly act independently, as if they've woken up from a sound sleep to find their own particular consciousness. The boat dove-tailed in front of me, wagging its butt. My mouth hung open. A two-seater speed boat. Green with white detailing. I was in the slow lane; I almost always am, thanks to my car's age. The boat nuzzled along the lanes until it stopped just ahead of me, and suddenly to my right, in the drainage lane, shoots up an SUV the size of a small school bus. Must be the boat's owner: downcast expression like a spurned lover. He made eye contact with me as I edged around his quarry: he looked sad, and tired, and just about as bored with dry land as his boat. He had a full gray beard, but he didn't look exactly seaworthy. 10:37 pm - 01.26.09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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