Lucks Value…
Events in my life over the past few weeks have been tenuous at best; the pry of sarcasm, the weight of worry have yet to wean their search for a willing host and although my spirits flee lightly over the everglades of life, I often succumb to the swamp below.
Every now and then I trip upon life’s simplicities, finding myself delivered from sorrow or anger, or just a plum rotten day. An event will silently lay claim to a moment in my time that was perhaps in need of glitter.
With work complete, I pulled on to the I5’s early hours of freeway patients that, although initially smothered, lightened near Los Feliz. Exiting on to the 110 south, the pace was still steady, my favorite song by Elbow, ‘Not a Job’ played over my lyrical mistreatment.
A hundred yards behind me, a motorcycle approached as I sped onto the exit ramp. My mind wandered as if in the final skatey bit of an album; not really amounting to much, over… and over… and over, and fairly content to stay there.
Luck is relative term; good or bad, its value is rather indefinable as a whole and highly dependant on the individual determining the presence there of. Luck’s disguise is often overlooked or perhaps never known. Anyway, I digress.
The motorcycle that was once behind, made its pass around; my window was down a bit, so I could hear the rev of the engine. ‘Woot-Woot-Woot… Woot-Woot-Woot’. Holy mother of God, I nearly soiled myself! I’m doing 80 and a foot away from my window is a cop letting lose on the naughty noise.
Onward he went, leaving his wake-up call in my midst. My speed, of course, became greatly reduced in my complete astonishment.
Now, I haven’t had a ticket in quite a while, and lord knows I probably deserve one. That being said, I would have been rather put out had my trip home been accompanied by a scheduled appearance date.
Had I received a ticket; I could have become part of the Hypocrites-of-America and winged about police injustice and its subsequent irrelevance to my breaking the law. I could choose to negate any cry for justice I might utter in the future and the fact that the first persons to respond in my time of need will most likely be a cop.
But I did not receive a ticket. My cheeks billowed with exhaled relief, followed by a long draw of fresh air. “Am I lucky!” I uttered quietly. A few moments later, steady at 60, I began to chuckle just a tad.
Things were not so bad after that. I chalked one from the karmic bank of withdrawal and watched my speed the rest of the way, accompanied by the gayety of luck. I often forget about the small things in life, even though it’s the small things that tend to make all the difference.
Every now and then I trip upon life’s simplicities, finding myself delivered from sorrow or anger, or just a plum rotten day. An event will silently lay claim to a moment in my time that was perhaps in need of glitter.
With work complete, I pulled on to the I5’s early hours of freeway patients that, although initially smothered, lightened near Los Feliz. Exiting on to the 110 south, the pace was still steady, my favorite song by Elbow, ‘Not a Job’ played over my lyrical mistreatment.
A hundred yards behind me, a motorcycle approached as I sped onto the exit ramp. My mind wandered as if in the final skatey bit of an album; not really amounting to much, over… and over… and over, and fairly content to stay there.
Luck is relative term; good or bad, its value is rather indefinable as a whole and highly dependant on the individual determining the presence there of. Luck’s disguise is often overlooked or perhaps never known. Anyway, I digress.
The motorcycle that was once behind, made its pass around; my window was down a bit, so I could hear the rev of the engine. ‘Woot-Woot-Woot… Woot-Woot-Woot’. Holy mother of God, I nearly soiled myself! I’m doing 80 and a foot away from my window is a cop letting lose on the naughty noise.
Onward he went, leaving his wake-up call in my midst. My speed, of course, became greatly reduced in my complete astonishment.
Now, I haven’t had a ticket in quite a while, and lord knows I probably deserve one. That being said, I would have been rather put out had my trip home been accompanied by a scheduled appearance date.
Had I received a ticket; I could have become part of the Hypocrites-of-America and winged about police injustice and its subsequent irrelevance to my breaking the law. I could choose to negate any cry for justice I might utter in the future and the fact that the first persons to respond in my time of need will most likely be a cop.
But I did not receive a ticket. My cheeks billowed with exhaled relief, followed by a long draw of fresh air. “Am I lucky!” I uttered quietly. A few moments later, steady at 60, I began to chuckle just a tad.
Things were not so bad after that. I chalked one from the karmic bank of withdrawal and watched my speed the rest of the way, accompanied by the gayety of luck. I often forget about the small things in life, even though it’s the small things that tend to make all the difference.
posted by Harmon J. Sedgwick at
2:19 PM
|
4
comments
