The drivers of the car form a routine as they drive and at the same time, a routine of themselves. Suddenly there is a glitch in the plans. Speed is impeded. Cars slowly come to a stop. Horns roar, angry men sigh and light cigarettes.
Faces turn red as exhaust from cars seeps into the air.
Some accept this hindrance and simply sigh and turn up the radio. There's a bridge in the distance, slowly raising its arms to embrace a new friend and hold back some anxious ones. That bridge has the power to shut things out. Maybe now those cars will have a greater appreciation for that bridge. And you were smitten, captured, inspired but the change was unending and consistency was frightening and boredom was haunting because the new was unending and you kept on forgetting . . .