Too late to make breakfast, gotta go, gotta go, go , go. Out the door down past the corner store. Drive through at McD’s for a coffee to go and an egg and bacon roll and then join the roll call of other dominoes. Blocks of ice moving on a glacier of road at no speed. Looking in the rear view, a face behind me looking disinterested and bored waiting for the traffic to clear, fingers tapping on the wheel, how does she feel about being stuck in this glue??

Coffee’s bitter, the roll is sweet, a slice of crunchy bacon and a half cooked egg white dribbles from the packet. It smells like someone made it in a plastic factory. On the streets pedestrians play chess with moving pieces of traffic, crossing at the urging of clicking lights, avoiding the fights of engines running and radios blaring and frustrated Joes swearing. Avoiding harried looks by using public transport – but even that can cause problems – overcrowding in sardine cans with poor air conditioning, breathing in the fug of six hundred other human beings. In the car it’s a cloistered world, isolated , just you and your thoughts, circiling about with the DJ and the morning funnies. While that loose spring in the seat starts to claw at your buttock and the steering wheel begins to weigh a thousand pounds and time seems to start to drag and weigh down because you’re going to be late, because it’s rush hour – an oxymoron maybe?

The lights change again to green and the domino squares move along another piece of Punt Road pushed by the gods up at traffic control who see all through their multi-vision cameras, their banks of spying prying eyes, watching us drink our latte enemas….

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