Moiré’s Insanity

"I slouched comfortably or at least as comfortable as my six foot four frame would allow in a car this size. Arm hanging out the passenger window, with a lit cigarette snug in between index and middle finger of my right hand collapsed against the outer panel. I gleaned at the side mirror, while drawing in a puff of smoke. Traffic was stop and go as usual around this time, but we appeared to be moving more frequently. Congestion ahead must be releasing its hold on commuters, all tiredly pacing toward they’re particular destination. We approached the bridge ahead. This bridge connected two cities separated by a bay of ocean a few miles long I’m not exactly sure how long. Riding and smoking, I watched this massive structure transform from a bridge across the sea to a tunnel that burrowed deep beneath it. Lit up with burnt yellow lights like hot piss in plastic water bottles, perched on either side above two lanes of one way traffic filled with automobiles of all kinds. Engines roaring, tires rolling, music and voices blaring from each one. Now muffled sound waves that were once spewing from Tony’s Honda. My cigarette smoke as I lit another now overpowered by a multitude of exhaust fumes that filled the tunnel. Head lights bounced off rear end bumpers, projecting illumination amalgamating to what the room of a surgery must be like. Finally we emerged out of the other side of the tunnel and back on the bridge. To a skyline of dusk beseech-ed by older, darker complexed pastels and adorned by a distant moon that reflected itself off the salty rigidity of the ocean waving back to it."