Miracle machine

Damp dreary weather for the morning commute. For once you had a car to do the work. Cruising in comfort with talk radio to tickle the brain. In command of your miracle machine. Enjoying that sense of ease and authority.

Sunshine for the reverse commute in the afternoon. The smug self-satisfaction had worn off. In every stream of traffic the same pattern: one driver one car. One human one metric tonne of metal and plastic. Inching along narrow roads better walked.

Dropped the thing off at the rental place and walked for 40 minutes. Past the central station, along the boardwalk by the Millennium stadium. River trail, cricket ground, sea-of-green playing fields, tall-tree avenue, Pontcanna and home.


Their ball comes close

hit it back half-volley left foot

— perfect 

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