I stepped outside this morning and felt sharp, warm raindrops against my bare skin. I was merely running out to start my car and was still donning a tank top, boxer shorts and flip flops. My hair was wet and only getting wetter as I ran frantically down the driveway to my car in an effort to get out of the rain. I don't know why it bothers me so - I mean, I do shower regularly.
Morning commute is typically not fun. It is typically even less fun in weather such as this. The sky is shouting down obsenities as it grumbles and churns, all grey and white (which, in this context is really only a lighter shade of grey) - I had on the radio, strangely, and decided quite promptly that this was no morning to tolerate the rantings and ravings of call-in radio shows. I opted for Miles Davis. Let me say one thing (I'll say more than one thing, mind you, but please... allow me this one): Miles Davis makes even the most grueling commute a somewhat pleasurable experience. So here I was, sitting in my Ford Foci in bumper to bumper traffic.
I gazed out at the landscape surrounding me and was amazed at the transformation. All these cars, zipping along and kicking up water like miniature popcorn kernels... even that Dodge Aries over there, the color of rusty water - the kind you would find collecting in an old metal wheelbarrel - looks so sleek and sexy now.
Everyone played a part in the music. This Volvo in front of me is cutting me off, but with STYLE; his blinker flashing in perfect rhythm...rhythm...rhythm...
It was a great commute and it's turning out to be a damn terrific Miles Davis day.
Ba da be bob skiddly do ah!