I was driving home that very familiar route. I turned automatically onto the freeway ramp leading to the 170 that would take me home to Hollywood. I anticipated the long thoughts that would accompany me on my comfortable ride. I glanced to my right to a carpool sign, defaced with graffiti. I don’t know that language so I didn’t know the sentiment. But something so common was quite suddenly giving me pause.
As I rounded the final turn that bleeds into open highway, I faced another sign, as inspired as the first. I maneuvered my machine onto and into the concrete ocean before me; and letting myself into it, I noticed the oblivious moon, and all its glory.
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