« It's a hazy day and the highways lifts to a drained sky. There are four northbound lanes and you are driving in the third lane and here are cars ahead and behind and to both sides, although not too many and not too close. When you reach the top of the incline, something happens and the cars begin to move unhurriedly now, seemingly self-propelled, coasting smoothly on the level surface. Everything is slow and hazy and drained and it all happens around the word seem.
All the cars including yours seem to flow in dissociated motion, giving the impression of or presenting the appearance of,
and the highway runs in a white hum.
Then the mood passes. The noise and rush and blur are back and you slide into your life again,
feeling the painful weight in your chest. »
