402 a.m., 8-28-2017.
The eye lids squeak open, ol’ mr. sandman partied hard last night.
Reset in major grocery chain one hour due south from warm, comfortable bed; must be there by 7 a.m. uuuggghhh. I cannot jump from bed splash water on the face and mane then out the door, no way coffee, food, time for the synopses to fire and warm up like well tuned engine.
Now awake, freeway I make if only roadways so less jammed.
But wait, thinking way ahead of its’ time to radical to believe roadway so clear for the electronic signpost up ahead reads: roadwork seven miles ahead.
And then…
Red taillights painfully slow moving automobiles and not an orange cone in sight.
Stop and go, stop and go, stop and go; the poor brakes
Driver in front keeps looking straight down, at what, occasionally looks to right and down as if major interest in front seat appearance, maybe waiting for the big call, text, facebook. Attention not out windshield, I want to ram so bad instead light on the accelerator.
Stop and go, stop and go, stop and go. Oh the humanity!
I need relief, music not the ticket, a-ha! Down into the depths of cd collection Jack Benny disc insert whilst on one stop before the go.
Humor from radio’s golden age, refreshing, ageless, and darn excellent way to beat stress, laugh your worries away don’t ya know.
Forward there orange cones! Workers! Reprieve! Just a short distance now, freedom alright.
And just like that drivers take off attempting to make up lost time as if one of the construction workers waved a green flag.
Seven miles of wall to wall traffic some tried in vain to break out; now as I am back on track but running late kinda felt a little like prison.
Good night
The Conglomerate Lode 
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