Seven of Cups

The City—MORNING

We are on a road trip for work. Headed up In the Mountains as usual. Me, Sailor Lou, Mary, and Iris. The news on the radio is depressing.

“I am miserable that we are living in a prison society.” I declare and slump against the door in the passenger’s seat. Iris wants clarification.

“Are we like Australia?”

“At least they had hope that they could leave the island.” I say, “We are on a whole prison planet with no chance of escape.” The Sailor, who is driving, nods.

“I am convinced,” he decides and takes his hands off the wheel. The cargo van hurdles on. 

“Great alignment,” I think out loud.

Everyone else looks at each other, daring someone to grab the wheel. Iris squeals as the van bears down behind a slow moving truck in the morning traffic. I reach over and depress the brake, slowing us enough. But hurtling the Sailor’s fast food breakfast, which had been stuck in the center console, into the back and all over Iris and Mary. At this Sailor Lou relents and takes the wheel back.

“Sorry,” he smiles, “I thought this was one of those new ones you can pilot with a remote.”

“Tell me again why people didn’t want these remote controlled cars?” I laugh. The Sailor smiles back.

“Because they thought people would do things like this!” He takes his hands off the wheel again and we laugh and coast into a gas station where we’re invited to join a small impromptu fair.

They are eating fish tacos and watching a Humphrey Bogart film.