Trafficking

There are few things as depressing to me than coming around the curve on Spaghetti Junction and seeing a vast parking lot on 285 westbound all the way to the horizon.

*sigh*

On the positive side, I got to observe, for a looong time, in my rearview mirror, a juxtaposition of roles.

There was a youngish woman with short cropped, bleach blond hair in a Dodge Ram pickup truck. In the passenger seat was a young boy whose eyes were just above the dash, kilroy-fashion.

The mom was hyper-kinetic. She was smoking a cigarette, bouncing in her seat (not dancing, I don’t think… just bouncing), adjusting her mirror, reaching across to roll up and down the window, tapping her cigarette out her own window, adjusting the radio.

Meanwhile, the smallish boy sat passively staring straight ahead, not reacting at all.

I don’t know what it means, but I couldn’t stop watching.