Dante was wrong. Hell is a morass of lanes and ramps, of mesas, plains and canyons of concrete, where millions of of steel and fiberglass capsules hurtle at, around and sometimes into each other at speeds exceeding 70 miles per hour. These vehicles are aimed and guided by all kinds of drivers including the: halt, lame, mad, maniacal, idiotic, naive, frightened, stupid, homicidal, suicidal, timid, impatient, angry, oblivious, preoccupied, intoxicated, patient, considerate, kind, brutal, and distracted
Driving along the John Lodge in Detroit, or some similar conduit of madness, I wonder about the driver who rips in front of me from three lanes over, sliding his Accura through the gaps between vehicles with less than 10 inches to spare—is she a Ph.D in astrophysics? Is he a graduate of Harvard law school? Is she a highly respected Oncologist or just a clerk at Home Depot? Then I imagine this person after the pile up, their life devastated or terminated by a momentary hesitation or miscalculation that turned their $45,000 plus social networking, communications and entertainment center on wheels into a blood spattered mass of jagged steel, shattered glass, and flame—a shredder that sliced and diced them like carrots without regard to their personal values, dreams, goals, purposes and importance and left them as matter to be shoveled and hosed off the pavement like smashed watermelons.
This we call progress and civilization. It is inevitable we say. The sacrifice of some for the many is an acceptable cost. So in the name of convenience, freedom, status and the American Way, we encourage our best, brightest and innocent to share the highways with dim wits, drunks and lunatics. And too often they are one and the same.
So the descansos lining our roads and highways are increasingly prominent and more numerous than the Golden Arches and the future for trauma centers, rehabilitation clinics and funeral homes seems brighter than ever.
Dante was wrong. Hell is a morass of lanes and ramps, of mesas, plains and canyons of concrete, where millions of of steel and fiberglass capsules hurtle at, around and sometimes into each other at speeds exceeding 70 miles per hour. These vehicles are aimed and guided by all kinds of drivers including the: halt, lame, mad, maniacal, idiotic, naive, frightened, stupid, homicidal, suicidal, timid, impatient, angry, oblivious, preoccupied, intoxicated, patient, considerate, kind, brutal, and distracted.
Driving along the John Lodge in Detroit, or some similar conduit of madness, I wonder about the driver who rips in front of me from three lanes over, sliding his Accura through the gaps between vehicles with less than 10 inches to spare—is she a Ph.D in astrophysics? Is he a graduate of Harvard law school? Is she a highly respected Oncologist or just a clerk at Home Depot? Then I imagine this person after the pile up, their life devastated or terminated by a momentary hesitation or miscalculation that turned their $45,000 plus social networking, communications and entertainment center on wheels into a blood spattered mass of jagged steel, shattered glass, and flame—a shredder that sliced and diced them like carrots without regard to their personal values, dreams, goals, purposes and importance and left them as matter to be shoveled and hosed off the pavement like smashed watermelons.
This we call progress and civilization. It is inevitable we say. The sacrifice of some for the many is an acceptable cost. So in the name of convenience, freedom, status and the American Way, we encourage our best, brightest and innocent to share the highways with dim wits, drunks and lunatics. And too often they are one and the same.
So the descansos lining our roads and highways are increasingly prominent and more numerous than the Golden Arches and the future for trauma centers, rehabilitation clinics and funeral homes seems brighter than ever.
Hell is a Freeway
July 4th, 2011 · Editorial, Politics and Social Issues
Dante was wrong. Hell is a morass of lanes and ramps, of mesas, plains and canyons of concrete, where millions of of steel and fiberglass capsules hurtle at, around and sometimes into each other at speeds exceeding 70 miles per hour. These vehicles are aimed and guided by all kinds of drivers including the: halt, lame, mad, maniacal, idiotic, naive, frightened, stupid, homicidal, suicidal, timid, impatient, angry, oblivious, preoccupied, intoxicated, patient, considerate, kind, brutal, and distracted.
Driving along the John Lodge in Detroit, or some similar conduit of madness, I wonder about the driver who rips in front of me from three lanes over, sliding his Accura through the gaps between vehicles with less than 10 inches to spare—is she a Ph.D in astrophysics? Is he a graduate of Harvard law school? Is she a highly respected Oncologist or just a clerk at Home Depot? Then I imagine this person after the pile up, their life devastated or terminated by a momentary hesitation or miscalculation that turned their $45,000 plus social networking, communications and entertainment center on wheels into a blood spattered mass of jagged steel, shattered glass, and flame—a shredder that sliced and diced them like carrots without regard to their personal values, dreams, goals, purposes and importance and left them as matter to be shoveled and hosed off the pavement like smashed watermelons.
This we call progress and civilization. It is inevitable we say. The sacrifice of some for the many is an acceptable cost. So in the name of convenience, freedom, status and the American Way, we encourage our best, brightest and innocent to share the highways with dim wits, drunks and lunatics. And too often they are one and the same.
So the descansos lining our roads and highways are increasingly prominent and more numerous than the Golden Arches and the future for trauma centers, rehabilitation clinics and funeral homes seems brighter than ever.
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