The little things in life.

On my way to work the other day I was cut off by this ratty old car with Indiana license plates. I watched him swerve through the morning commute keeping old Korbin, my sleek and sexy '97 Camery, well away from him. We parted ways as his muffler screamed goodbye, and I made my way to another day of pouring wine and shaking those 'tinis (as in MARtinis, all heads out of the gutter). Six hours later, I headed for my commute home. The sun hovered over the Northern State Parkway and my mind felt at ease after giving in my two-weeks notice for my Amsterdam journey. Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine" blared out of my sunroof and my always epic solo dance party raged on.


I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine...


Just as I belted out loud and proud, I heard a grumble from my left as an old vehicle dodged out from behind me, just missing the side Korby. I prepared to initiate a full-bellied "TOOT" (for Korby's horn has been stuck in puberty ever since we've united)... and then I noticed the Indiana license plates. Inside the car was that same midwestern guido boy from the morning. I exchanged my full-blown beep for a pleasant 'toot toot (o:' He looked my way then cut me off and continued bobbing through rush hour. In that moment, Fiona Apple stopped singing, the plinky notes came to an end, and everything in my life just seemed to make sense. 

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