Friends and liars don't wait for me. 'Cause I'll get on all by myself. Who: Highways What: Narrative When: A day that ends in Y. Where: Starts off on a California freeway ends elsewhere
Where am I going?
The question is strange, the thought alien and it makes Highways uncomfortable. Where he is going is of no consequence.
Where are you going?
That’s the question. Directed out and towards the traveler, a question he sometimes answers for them. That’s how it’s supposed to be. How he likes it to be. Highways is no stranger to change but this recent shift has made him uneasy.
He’s been walking in ever widening circles for weeks now. Usually for a few hours, rarely for days and lately no matter what he ends up back at the same place.
The aqua colored house with the seashell trim.
Triteia isn’t there right now and that was okay at least he likes to think it is but the truth is it doesn’t feel okay.
Where is she going?
No, best not to dwell on that.
Sitting on the concrete median that divides the East and West bound 90 Interstate the New God remains unseen to mortal eyes. Rush hour traffic is in full swing. The line of cars stretches farther then the eye can see.
Where are you going? The Highway asks.
Home I would like to go home…Grocery store, pick up the kid, drop off the DVDs…Crazy, I am going to go fucking crazy…Six o’clock flight never going to make it…DISNEYLAND DISNEYLAND DISNEYLAND…nowhere fast…to find a bathroom…meeting with a client….El Pollo Loco…AWAY FROM HIM…
He listens, he smiles and how long he sits there is anyone’s guess. He’s unaware of the pull at first. The slight tug that grows more insistent and finally, almost sheepishly he closes the distant from here to there in the blink of an eye.
Before Lincoln can open his mouth to apologize his arms are full of sea nymph and it's at that moment he realizes he's had the answer all along.