The drive was a bit icy snow dusting her parking spot piles on the edges sparkling in the bright high altitude sun. After GoGo Passat's engine is sufficiently warm, she backs out of her drive hands on the cool black leather steering wheel, her eyes turned toward the rear. The engine sounds as she puts it in drive, the pressure with her foot on the gas pushes her back in her heated black leather seat.
GoGo's tires spit the de-icing gravel with cracks and pops. She slows so as to not cover her car with the oily gunk. Her eyes sense the drifting dry powder snow as her body feels for it, the heated seat keeping that sensation at bay. A howl whistles as the drifts swirl beautiful circles of snow the dust landing on GoGo's hood.
Smiling, happiness surfaces. Her affinity for weather acknowledged within. Her smile leads her to a feel looking to her right as she's sensing that she's being seen. Her eyes meet a friendly face. Both in their autos, they nod giving a wave. The light turns green their smiles facing forward the sounds of the engine repeats.
Her eyes widen as she spies parking downtown. Quickly sequestering the coveted spot, she uses her phone to pay the fee the pad's of her fingers moving quickly over the screen. The phone goes in her pocket as she senses the cloth of the tweed jacket feathering across her thumb and top of her hand.
Feet sound on the pavement snug in their brogues the cuff of her jeans brushing her ankles. Her Brahmin slips from her shoulders. She quickly grabs her handbag before it hits the ground slipping on the icy floor righting herself quickly, she smiles feeling a sense of accomplishment for not kissing the ground below her.
A rebellious skip in her step, she leans into the door of the bistro her smile continues.
"Wow. What happened?" The Maître d asks.
"I love winter. You?" She’s smiling and looking down at her tie up shoes at the same time inspecting for scuffs.
"Uh, yeah. Sure." The host responds as he leads her to her window seat nestled in the corner. She's one of those foodies that does lunch same place same time. The nourishment reaches her palette expressing flavors rich, complex, in harmony. The Prosecco a perfect pairing.
The snowstorm made for tricky conditions as she was backing up out of her driveway. Warmed by the heated seat, she put GoGo Passat in drive the tires singing on the sandy road. Speeding along downtown's main drag, she nodded her head along with the retro 80s playlist her friend had created for her.
She pauses sensing something has pinged her awareness. A bit embarrassed, she turns her head to see her friend was waving and circling fingers asking her to roll down the window.
"What's up?" Button pressed the window down.
"You on your way to the bistro?" Her friend asked tipping toward the cafe with her head.
"Yeah. I'm stopping by the post first."
A thumbs up they ride off.
"Save me a seat!" She calls to her cycling friend.
A retreating hand wave returned.
Entering the bistro, she sees her friends surrounding their customary table in the corner my the window.
As she makes her way toward her lunch mates, she calls out to the questioning wait staff, "Prosecco." With a smile.
Book in hand, she rests it on her lap just surfacing from her the memories triggered by the tale before her.
Laying back on the top of Big Rock, she closes her eyes to dream.
Snow’s falling, the process one of her favorites.
Opening the door of her sweet little abode, just past her front stoop stands bright blue-white snow four feet tall. The chill from the ice feels refreshing as she breathes in the crisp clean air. There's so much snow, tunnel carved from her well shoveled walk to GoGo Passat.
GoGo takes a bit longer to warm, she makes certain to turn the heated seat all the way up to five. Defrost on, she listens for GoGo's sign that her auto is warm and has ran the cycle ready to roll. GoGo loves winter time, the colder the better.
The road is clean and empty as temperature keeps others at bay. Finding parking just before her regular lunch spot, she strolls in to find the chef and one server up for the experience.
”Yes. Prosecco would be lovely!” She smiles taking a seat at the small table in the corner by the window.
Why does the time lord appear such a killjoy to the human condition? It is a construct?
What is the deep impetus that causes such hurry for some? Is it future focus or a fleeing from the past?
Are we designed to exist in present delaying gratification experiencing in full the process for what's to come in the linear world?
Cheers to the adventure, yeah?