Between The Lines

Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing … O rest beside the weary toad and hear the angels sing …  Old buses always seem to run faster on the way home, and most of the time, the road always seems to stay the same.

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Midnight Highway

Being as I am terminally afflicted with a modern illness termed “Road Rage” it is often that I have to self diagnose myself and quickly take measures to protect not only myself, but also the general public at large.  This morning, I am cruising down the boulevard; all is well in my world. 

Traffic is light, most of it has cleared out, and the road for the most part is quite empty.  I am pleased, I chuckle and think, “If I was any happier I would have to pay an amusement tax.”

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