Racing through traffic

At the end of the working day, everyone is racing home, dashing through traffic, cutting in and out, vying for position, trying to get ahead of everybody. Yeah, right. Lights change, more cars join the chase.. too many hounds, not enough foxes. Too much chasing, not enough catching. Too much hurry & scurry and not enough relaxing. Not enough carefulness. Nor courtesy.

What am I doing here? I don't belong.. don't fit in. All this rush, rush, rush, all this hurry, faster, speed-up, c'mon-get that piece of junk outa the way!

Racing through traffic is where I don't belong! I don't belong in the office downtown. I don't belong in the parking garage safely out of the weather. I don't belong in a world of work! work! work! working to make another man rich. He doesn't know me personally, doesn't care about me or my family. He is interested in keeping his millions and in leaving something behind for his family, especially for his kids!

Racing through the traffic in my mind, I can see that the end is in sight.

Must be time for me to slow down.

I can't go on like this.