There’s something about driving 80 miles an hour at 4am in the morning that connects you with mortality. Driving back from the SBC this morning with Brad afforded just such an experience. For a few minutes, I rammed through the darkness in the Park Avenue, my pulse elevated even as my eyes threatened to close. How close, I thought, am I to death? Two seconds? Three? What does one experience in the flash of the moment? Do my friends know the extent of my love should I lose grip on this old steering wheel?
It was at this point that Brad, sleeping in the passenger side, snorted, and encouraged me to go whatever speed I wanted. So I did.
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Sounds like sin.
Repent.
(Just trying to be a good friend who cares.)