A Difference of Opinion

The license plate said "NEVER L8" so I picked up a pebble from the parking lot and wedged it into the valve stem. They may plan for traffic but I bet they weren't planning on my vagary. I did it because the idea itself offended me. I did it because I shouldn't have. The punctual constantly pontificate about their superior consideration for the time and feelings of others so I find ways to make them late. It's the same reason I keyed a crude drawing of Africa into the passenger door of the navy blue Lexus in the Hy-Vee parking lot with the Pro-Life license plate. Had the owner been outside I simply would've shared my own opinion on the matter, but they weren't so I left them something for their consideration.

I hate the bumper sticker for its lack of commitment.

Conquest Again

I imagine that successful people come home from work feeling that they've slayed the world's dragons. They glance at the people they pass on the freeway knowing that they did more, that the world wouldn't be as good if they had chosen to shut off the alarm and gone back to jousting a legion of Tickle-Me-Elmos armed with wrapping paper tube lances riding on shopping cart chariots. I imagine the successful people throwing open the door to their house victoriously. The door between their garage and kitchen, because successful people have attached garages. They take a few steps inside and then pose for a minute to intimidate the waning minutes of the day. The sun doesn't set, it hides behind the horizon in fear of being conquered by them. They stand there, fists upon waist like Superman. You can almost see the hurricane fan hiding in the mudroom, blowing on low. They stand there for a minute, right foot slightly forward like it's standing on the kitchen's chest, basking in accomplishment. They proceed to the dining room where dinner is waiting for them because they wait for nothing. And then to bed after some brief calisthenics. The sun doesn't rise in the morning, it peaks over the horizon to see if it's safe but they're waiting for it. They sleep on their backs and never roll over. It's less sleeping than waiting, waiting for the sun to peek from behind obscurity like it does every day, and like every day it meets the waiting gaze of the successful and leaps into the sky to get as far away as it can. And then out their front door they saunter with their wits as weapons, ready for conquest again.