Hanging fire like an old suit in the closet of high heaven, the sunrise takes its sweet time blinding the eyes of morning while breakfast's thoughts of lunch get run over on the road. The silhouettes of lampposts line the highway, some surveilling with mounted cameras the dawn while paltry hopes and slim fears compel the coming storms to hasten from the ocean. Meanwhile, up above, the blue and the green of the ancient sky convey a broad and serene truth difficult to comprehend but nonetheless present in the escaping feeling of aimless anxiety beginning to fetch a glimpse of the raw buoyancy of tires on lined and mangled asphalt, repaired and re-repaired dozens of times in the sun.

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