Urgency

Drove into the 7-11 down at the corner to get a local suburbia newspaper. In the spring there's more to read about students, awards, soccer, and craft shop sales of plastic Easter eggs and fake flowers. Whipping in right behind me was a small vehicle propelled by a nearly explosive male driver of about twenty, in a leather jacket, Converse All-Stars, many earrings, and a "Bad Religion" cap. He spent nearly a minute making his choice, which I thought was mighty studious under the circumstances, before heading to the check-out with his Trojans. I was happy to allow him to go ahead of me in line, and he zoomed off in his beat-up compact car. Nothing in my life has that sense of urgency any more. I like it that way.

I chatted with the cashier about the chill of the wind, and the pretty sunset we had earlier. As I got back in the Buick another young male screeched his old Ford Escort to a halt. I couldn't read his backward cap. I couldn't really understand the hurry anymore.