Ipswich Motorway
I catch up to the bottleneck on the Ipswich Motorway on my way to work, settling in behind the bulk of a white Nissan Pathfinder. Beside me a bright yellow van declares its contents as fresh flowers and behind it, also bright yellow I see a large bill-board: “Want Longer Lasting Sex?”. The bill-board is installed on the corner of a junkyard where the rusting corpses of a thousand cars are stacked four deep. Behind me, a Daihatsu Charade circa 1989 catches up. I can see the driver in the rear view mirror: flanny shirt, matrix style sunglasses and a flowing mullet. He is rocking out to something. I’m listening impassively to Nirvana: Never Mind and I hear Kurt Cobain informing me that he doesn’t have a God. I wonder what music other people are listening to in the cars around me, sometimes I catch fragments of music from other cars that have the same iPod radio adapter that I have: usually mainstream rock/pop, sometimes stock market commentary. Sometimes I can figure out which car I’m jamming with and I wonder if they can hear me too. But we all keep our eyes straight ahead. The traffic starts moving again.
