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Perspectives on Daily Life

I was tailgating, off the rear right tire, of a white modern rendition of the modern man’s dream rental car. It was the All-American Boredom, a true mid 90’s stalker mobile. Approaching 40 mph, driving home, the darkness of the hour cascaded through my windows lit by passing grave stones on Mt. Elliot road.

It seams that there are two types of people who parade unfortunate tourists to their roads of conciseness mapped beside their vehicles with bumper stickers; One will naturally tell you how to think without a statement progressed in their direction and the other will act like it was an accident those LOUD and declarative eulogies of thought, dreams, and foundational views somehow got on their car.

Why, why would you subject others to corky ill intended two line lectures trailing inadequacies of our government or environment? Freedom of speech? Strong soul perhaps, bless their hearts.

I missioned myself to determine the makes of this vehicles’ owner’s mind whom I was stalking. Their brake lights cut my day dream short as the stop light beckoned change. Stopped, honing into bring my wonder to rest, my headlights inched closer and closer as my eyes jumped from God to Gore and how one could win in 2004, from bands to brands and how “Lypo was the Typo of life”. The lineage of this owner’s momentary mutinies were displayed for the world to see.

I can’t even begin to think where I would start an argument on a topic I felt strongly about that didn’t have to do with Jesus. Green, my envy wasn’t fed as the car pulled away from me. So I followed.

“what would I have a bumper sticker about”? I pondered.

“Well something to do with God” I replied.

“But you don’t drive Christ like”.

“Good point”.

Trees and the rain-forest, anti-McDonald campaigns, Save Detroit or Die. Maybe I belong to the I-will-yell-with-my-words-not-my-mouth crew of Bumper Sticker Bearers. But what about the paint job?

No, I will be a secretive BSB. I will need a sticker to tell the world that I have a small carbon foot print by not printing all my thoughts on stickers. Yes, that is a great idea. One sticker to tell them that. But then the paint job, it is a lease after all. Hmmm.

My turn was quickly approaching so the foot pressed down and I began to pass. Peaked to add conclusion to my all ready stereotyped mind. I leaned forward a bit to peak around the driver’s head rest. Slowly, slowly. It’s a woman, no that’s a scarf, and then, they turned off my path. I couldn’t believe it. Conclusions convoluted with question and openness.

Who was that? What did they do? Did they have an inside source feeding them information about the pathways to correct thinking? Were they an ambassador confidant from the mass media, spilling all they had just read from the magazine rack? Spilling because they found something at a convenient store that related with them for that moment forcing them to shell out the clams, strip to the sticky, paste, step back and approve.

My mind, in a state of wonder, rested after eating at the wonderful state mecca, Leo’s Connie Island, and downing a breakfast meal with chocolate milkshake. The fact that chocolate syrup was poured atop the whip cream atop the milkshake is beyond me. I feel there are others out there who could relate with me, I feel I should make a colony or support group where people who didn’t want chocolate covered whip cream on the chocolate milkshakes could come and feel at home. How to start, oh, a beckoning, I got it, I’ll make a bumper sticker!

False.