There is nothing like riding down the road with the radio turned up to traffic-annoying levels while singing along to a song and beating in time on the steering wheel.
I discovered this when I was driving away from Lucinda’s house after she turned down my offer of marriage. Actually, I cried for a couple of hundred miles, then slept off a bottle of wine in a rundown motel where GPS doesn’t reach.
The next day, after a hearty hangover-reducing breakfast, on the second leg of my journey is when I discovered the better joys of screaming along to a song while attempting to beat the interior of a car to bits. It started simply enough: Me tapping out a tattoo on my dash as I hung my hands over the top of the steering wheel, the fingertips keeping time to the rhythm on the hot vinyl.
Some word/instrument combination must have delivered a gut punch because next thing I know the windows are down, my hair is whipping in the wind, and I’m screaming lyrics and beating the steering wheel, dash, stick, and seats like a man in bad need of a straight jacket.
Seventy-five miles of that was the best therapy session I could have had. Helped me to get my head on straight. Needed a nap after.
I highly recommend it…but only when you are alone…and near a bed.
Comments are always appreciated: GordonUnplugged@outlook.com
Excerpt from the third novel in The Dance Floor Wars series: Collisions