He had been coping with the loneliness of the lockdown in his own little world. His head full of thoughts, good and bad. Ups and downs. The vices helped soften the thoughts. Another week had lent its bike rides, short skate sessions, copious reading, and intermittent boredom. Alone. After a full-day hangover, it was past time to rise from that mundane bed of his. He remembers when that bed didn't seem so mundane. At an early hour, he prepared his coffee and breakfast, ready to begin his day in its entirety.
With mask equipped, layers of clothing, coffee, & snacks in tow, he mechanically fastened his seatbelt. Backed out the driveway, swung the steering wheel to the right. Now, accelerating north on that first street. A dozen turns later, he approached the highway. Ten miles in, he exited to advance into the National Forest. The only place anywhere nearby that seemed to cling to any of its normalcy. The birds continued to chirp, the roads continues to wind, and the roadside litter remained where it had been placed by irresponsible visitors.
The region's unseasonably heavy rains made for an abnormal lush greenery in the foothills. Beautiful. Still alone. He could smell his own breath in his mask and removed it, placing it on the passenger's seat. Shotgun was reserved for that mask now, never for another human. He wonders how long this would last. Card games, comedy specials, and The Economist lost their appeal in the new world shaped by the virus.
Turning to his left to enter a cliffside parking lot, he inched along slowly as to not hit a car or pedestrian all but visible from a mere 20 feet away. As he shifted into PARK and turned off the engine, he heard the revving of many others in that same parking lot. A large group of car racing enthusiasts had apparently also been contained by the ROAD CLOSED signage, and they were all here making noise together. With the noise from their treasured engines and the friendly shit talking from their own voices. He picked up that mask from the adjacent seat and opened his card door to have a look around. There were two faint outlines of cars there for his eyes to see, but there must have been at least fifteen vehicles there. Staying close to the berm separating the lot from a steep drop into the mist. He explored, the space that was obviously smaller than it seemed, these thick clouds shrouding reality.
Without the view to ogle at, he returned to his car to read his magazine. Learning the newest nuances of the deeply rooted issues in Mozambique. They put his own loneliness and the problems of first-world Los Angeles in proper perspective. Letting the magazine and mask fall to the car seat, counted to ten Mississippi. He had heard the racing pack depart downhill in their hypebeast haste.. Turned the key in his ignition and slowly advanced back to the 39. Headed south towards home. He would have a video call with family. The first half of another day in the books.
- 7Ply Epic