Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I’m driving into a storm. I’ve got the window open. The air smells magnificent. It’s chilly. Iggy Pop’s American Caesar is loud on the radio. The writing on that album is goddamned bulletproof. It is unimpeachable. Iggy is the man, no fucking doubt about it. The music is louder than the wind coming through my open window. I don’t want to get wet, but I don’t want to lose this air either. Fast, cool, clean, wet air. My cloud of long straight brown hair was billowing around my head. I’ll wait until the last minute, past the last minute. A few drops won’t hurt. They’ll start gradually, one at a time. I’ll drive. I’m not scared. I love the storm. I’m not scared to love the storm. The storm loves me. This wonderful-smelling air is its gift to me.