Windows Down

Summer. Radiating asphalt. Mirage lines distorting the distance. In my truck, windows down, equally embracing and fighting the heat.

Zipping along the East Shoreway, or stop and go on Cedar Road. Cars, trucks, buses, tractor trailers--traveling along like super encapsulated chill mobiles, air conditioned happy sleds, coolio dealio rides with Freon to spare. All the windows up, 97 degrees, sun beating down without mercy. Most everybody cranks their A/C.

I'm usually rolling without A/C, not exactly sure why. I guess it's the breeze I want, sort of, but the blast furnace heat and the gas fumes kind of empty that thrill bucket.

Partly a nagging fear of standing roadside, hood up and steam billowing. Staring down at the overheated now-not-cooling system as if a magic mechanic is due any minute.

I think my windows are down because it feels more like being somewhere than not. When all the windows are up, cold air streaming from the dash, it's like being in a moving video screen, rolling to a dreaded broiling future where you have to turn your car off.

So I stay windows down, but I try to find shade to park in.