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6:15 on Hardy Toll

My left hand lies curled in a tight fist between my thighs, while the right presses stiffly against the coarse leather of the steering wheel, bearing the burden of the task. Though to call it a burden would be an overstatement of an activity that once gave me a sleepless 23 hour flight but now bordered on mindlessness. Now, being on the that road, at that time, when even the sun was too lazy to rise from its sleep, was second nature to me.


Thoughts raced through my mind, thoughts about the destination I was headed to. The bulk of them recollected old frustrations and the remainder imagined new ones. My left fist curl tighter as I sped ahead in the air conditioned cocoon. I try to keep to the right of the two lanes as I drove, quasi subconsciously,  at 60 miles per hour on a a 65 mile per hour lane, which still had an additional legally tolerable 10 mile per hour buffer. Lost in my unending imaginings, I stay at that speed until an even slower traveler in front jerk me into the present. I overtake him. Buoyed by my effortless and quick victory, a second is spared to irritate myself over why people drove so slowly, before lapsing back into my thoughts, while other cars overtake me in turn. 

The white markers on the asphalt are the best guides and a sound idiot proof method for the ones who have a poor sense of alignment. "Just make sure your right leg is somewhere along the center of the road", old words from a friend would remind me, as I drove him home while he lay on the seat next to me in a drunken stupor.The two lane road with road works and cement barricades makes me feel cramped. Along these stretches, my senses heighten, cautious not to brush against the cement, certain it would not, but tense it would. The red LED lights in front are the bests stimuli for regulating the pace on the race nobody wanted to participate it. They would light up bright one after the other one, along a neat curvy line, from the front to the back and I would apply the pressure on my brakes. Almost like a expert orchestra, everyone would gradually grind to a halt and accelerate when it dimmed the next moment. 

"Rankin Road", the white lettering against the shiny light green background boldly announce. 

It was the cue to change lane, a sign of the impending exit from the high speed road with the dark vegetation on both sides, to the low speed road, with its surrounding brightly lit box like buildings serving to empty these channels. Like everyone else on Hardy Toll, I would eventually reach my destination, only to long for the moment I would leave it again.
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