Twisting, turning through the winding streets, following my every move with a distanced anticipation

Waiting to see what I will do next, lest they need to make a sudden stop to accommodate a moment of hesitation.

I watch on with pride my followers, even if only for a moment- even if they will take a left or get into another lane soon, to hold up traffic and take a right

I relish in the structure of knowing, being able to predict what they will do next around an inevitable bend, at the red light that doesn't seem to fade. A pretend togetherness, empathy forming a bond with a husk.

When walking, how we all seem to follow simple turn signals- subconscious voices telling you to stay to the far right of a hallway when waking straight in a certain direction, a simple "excuse me" substituting a horn for those out of line.

A car body, the simplest expression of a human being. A horn to voice your frustrations, wheels to move, and coming in all different shapes, sizes, colors, and customizations

Because each car is a person in and of itself- an external representation of the person in control. Bumper stickers, customized wheels, bright red stripes, decals- a basic understanding is reached. What do you want to know? What should I tell you?

I take the highway to a new life and look in the rearview mirror to such cars, packed in a parking lot, plain and decked out, antlers and rubber ducks adorning their fronts, blue, red, expensive, small, comfortable. Trucks.

And I finally realize what I am leaving behind:

A predictability of knowing who the people are around me, their motivations, their direction. What will they do when I pass them? Will they talk behind my back? Who my friends are. What they want to know, and what I will tell them.

I leave it all behind as I speed 60 miles per hour toward my new life. I find a few cool cars along the way.