Hell
I hate parking garages. I feel trapped. Closed in. The gate shuts behind me. The radio turns to static. There is no way out past the long circuitous route that led me inside.
I hope for a spot on the first floor, there isn’t. I hope for a spot on the second floor, there isn’t. Those spots are reserved for the handicapped and people who get to work at 6am.
I wasn’t the star of Life Goes On. I’m stuck in this parking garage driving in circles from one floor to the next. Looking for a spot. Finding a spot. Not finding a spot. A sign on the wall tells me that there is seven spots open on the fifth floor. I know they don’t really exist. They never exist.
I’m driving to park. It doesn’t make any sense.
Motorcycles kill me. I want to smash into them.
It’s dark. A light flickers overhead. A car pulls out. Pulls back in. They’re not leaving. An Asian man wanders between cars. He’s lost. He doesn’t remember where he parked.
I don’t remember where I’m going.
I’m lost.
Moving in circles.
Going nowhere.
