speeding: chapter 372

A shitty cold grey rainy winter day. It briefly occurs to me that with her driving on a day like this, there is indeed a chance that we could quickly find ourselves in some horrible fatal accident out here on the interstate. It's raining pretty hard but she pays only intermittent attention to the road and the traffic around us. She is changing channels on the radio at a rate that would be frantic for anyone else but is merely habit for her. There is no concentration, incapable of it she is a scattered array of irresistable impulses barely held together in one skinny ravaged beautiful body. The whole while she keeps up her never ending soliloquy: a depressing tale of a life gone to waste. But she tells it as a lamentable ode to victimhood; and always entwined with some absurd plan that's going to turn everything around. It's not her fault but she'll save herself and the world while she's at it. Somehow it never materializes--the plan does not become reality. But it is not her fault. She is a hungry ghost. No telling when last she slept.